


Take It With Me

by smithpepper



Series: Event Horizons [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, but also they are BUSY, but justice will be served, kurapika needs sleep, med school is hard for leorio, this is slightly NSFW sometimes but nothing wild, yeah sex is cool but have you tried robbing a museum to impress your crush, yes they're gonna kiss at some point, you already know this will be angtsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithpepper/pseuds/smithpepper
Summary: The sequel to my Leopika AU "Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most", in which Leorio is a struggling young New Yorker who meets Kurapika, a feisty barista, during a particularly stressful time in his life. A wild adventure across two continents follows soon thereafter. Part Two of the story finds Leorio leaving New York with plans to attend medical school in Virginia and live a peaceful life, but it isn't long before his life is intertwined with Kurapika's once more.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Series: Event Horizons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752448
Comments: 103
Kudos: 167





	1. phone’s off the hook

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! 
> 
> You should probably read Part 1 (Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most) before this so that things make sense. But also, you can do whatever you want. Title is taken from the Tom Waits song "Take It With Me" and I highly recommend that you listen to it before/while reading. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you, like me, are in a place where COVID is still terrible, I hope you're safe and healthy. Leorio would give you a COVID test if he could.

It’s his first night in his new home, and Leorio can’t sleep. 

He’s exhausted from getting up at the crack of dawn that morning to drive the eight-hour stretch from Manhattan to Virginia, but he can’t drift off. It takes him a while to diagnose the source of his insomnia. His new bed is comfortable enough (although he’s sleeping on a bare mattress and using his jacket as a blanket), he isn’t hungry (his stomach is full of gas station beef jerky and sunflower seeds), he doesn’t have to pee (probably too dehydrated from all of the salt), and he isn’t overdue on any bills that would potentially cause him late-night anxiety. 

Around 2 am, tossing and turning, he figures it out. He’s never spent a night somewhere so quiet. There are no traffic sounds, no subways rumbling beneath his floor, no drunks fighting on the sidewalk, no bottles smashing against the street, no garbage trucks rattling their way down the road at 4 am. Instead, he hears a lone bullfrog croaking somewhere in the distance, the rustling of the breeze in the forest, and...silence. It unnerves him. 

He chuckles to himself as he rolls over in bed. Is he really homesick for New York City already? He only moved away about twelve hours ago. That was kind of pathetic. Zepile will enjoy hearing that story. 

Yawning, he glances at the clock again. It’s already 2:37 am. Damn. He’s going to be exhausted in the morning, and he has a lot of unpacking and shopping to do tomorrow. He wants to be fully settled in before school starts next week. 

A few nightbirds are cooing in the trees outside his window. The bullfrog stops abruptly for a moment before switching to a different pitch of croaking, and after another minute a second frog joins in. Leorio wonders if the nature around here is always so talkative. 

To help himself fall asleep, he grabs his phone and plays a Japanese for Beginners podcast at low volume. He’s been trying to learn, but the female teacher’s voice is so soft and soothing that it makes him sleepy. Was it true that you could learn in your sleep? He doubts it, but it couldn’t hurt. Either way, it does the trick, and he finally falls asleep. 

* * *

His dreams are complicated and vivid in the way that dreams often are after a day of traveling. He feels the impressions of Kurapika and Pietro without actually seeing their faces. In one dream he walks through the hallway of the hospital towards Pietro’s room while dragging a heavy black duffel bag across the tile floors, sweating and panting. He hears Pietro’s voice echoing down the hallway, telling him to hurry, but with each step the bag grows heavier and heavier. Dream logic tells him to glance down at his feet to see if they’re glued to the floor. As he stops walking, the bag splits open and spills out a congealed glob of bloody eyeballs. He jumps back from the gory mess in revulsion, and the dream dissolves.

* * *

In spite of his trouble sleeping the night before, Leorio wakes up early the next morning feeling well-rested. From the look of the lemony sunlight streaming in through his bedroom windows, it’s just past sunrise. There’s a riotous chorus of songbirds singing in the trees, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee is wafting in from somewhere outside. Mouth watering, he gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

As he’s figuring out how to adjust the old-fashioned faucet in the shower (hopping gingerly in and out of the water as it alternates between scalding and freezing), he remembers the mysterious note that he found in his kitchen cabinet last night. 

_I hope your travels went smoothly. It was too dangerous to contact you by phone or internet, so I hope that this note finds you well. I have a rather complicated matter with which I believe you could assist me. If you are interested, please meet me at 8 pm, 9 days from now, at the obvious location._

Leorio re-reads the note several times once he’s out of the shower and dressed. Frowning, he touches the handwriting. It looks so much like Kurapika’s, but is it possible that he’s imagining it? And what was the obvious location, anyway? Nine days didn’t feel like enough time to uncover the secret. Besides, he needs to get ready for school. He isn’t sure if he has the time or energy to get sucked into another adventure. 

Everything that happened last spring was crazy. It was confusing and intoxicating and more than a little dangerous. Kurapika was mixed up with some seriously sketchy people. In a lot of ways, it’s a terrible idea for Leorio to get mixed up in anything like that again. 

But still. He would be lying if he didn’t want to see Kurapika again. Their time together was so short. Leorio replays their one night together in his mind so often that he’s started to worry that he’s fabricating details. The softness of Kurapika’s hair. The look in his dark eyes. 

The morning sun is already strong when Leorio walks outside to start unpacking his rented U-Haul truck. Cicadas buzz in the trees, and there are thunderheads building up on the horizon. It’s promising to be a hot, humid day; the sooner he finishes carrying boxes into the house, the better. He breaks into a sweat almost immediately. 

As he carries a box of clanking dishes into his kitchen, he makes a deal with himself: if he can figure out how and why Kurapika sent him that note and where the “obvious location” is before school starts, then he’ll go to the meeting and see what Kurapika needs. If not, he’ll do his best to forget about the whole thing, and move on with life. School was too important for him to blow off, and if he doesn’t graduate and become a doctor, he won’t be able to live with himself. 

He finishes with the last of the boxes and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, steeling his resolve. He can’t let Pietro’s death be in vain.

* * *

Leorio’s new apartment came mostly furnished, but he still needs to buy a lot of stuff to make it habitable. He’s been standing in the cookware aisle of Target for twenty minutes, enjoying the store’s aggressive air conditioning but stunned by indecision. 

Before he moved, Senritsu helped him make lists of what he would need for his new place. Although Zepile had been a great roommate in many ways, he had also believed in the power of Windex as an all-purpose cleaning solution. Once Leorio caught him spraying it onto a pile of stinky laundry to freshen it up. After hearing that story, Senritsu took pity and offered to help. Her own apartment, a loft in Astoria with expertly installed soundproofing, was immaculate and elegant.

The lists are helpful but overwhelming. There are three pages of kitchen supplies alone, and he hasn’t even looked at the bathroom list. He grabs a few kitchen utensils at random and heads into the bathroom section instead, wondering if there was a nearby thrift store. Everything here was so expensive. It doesn’t help that his mind keeps wandering back to the strange note.

“If I don’t immediately know what the obvious answer is, then it can’t be that obvious,” Leorio grumbles to himself. “I can’t be that dumb.” 

He says it with more conviction that he feels, and starts to worry that he’s been missing clear hints. But Kurapika’s phone has been disconnected since April, and he has no email address or social media presence. Leorio has no way of contacting him to figure anything out. 

_Focus_ , he chides himself, realizing that he’s been zoning out in front of the shower curtains. He gives his head a little shake and chooses a light green shower curtain and the cheapest plastic liner available. His budget is quickly dwindling, and he still needs to buy new bedding. And a trash can, and groceries, and a used car, and textbooks for school, and...

Oh well. Nothing he can do about it now. This was still better than going broke in New York. 

After ringing up his purchases at the self checkout ($257, a number that gives him minor heart palpitations) he walks back outside into the stultifying warmth of the parking lot. Heat shimmers off of the black asphalt. The lush mountains surrounding the town are hazy in the humidity. Leorio loads up the U-Haul with his purchases and shades his eyes to look up at the mountains, and notices a large metal star glinting from top of the closest peak. He hadn’t noticed it last night, and makes a mental note to look it up when he gets home. 

* * *

Around 2 pm, Leorio takes a break from shopping to get a cup of coffee, and finds a cafe near his apartment. It’s in a small brick building at the foot of the mountains. The roads leading up to it grow steeper and steeper, criss-crossed by old train trestles and low-hanging tree branches. He’s never spent time in the mountains before, and he likes the cozy way that the greenery presses in from every side. 

As he waits in line for his coffee, a new thought crosses his mind. Perhaps Kurapika hadn’t mailed the note at all. Maybe he was actually in Roanoke right now and had somehow gained access to Leorio’s apartment before he moved in. The idea gives him a jolt of adrenaline. He glances around the coffee shop, just in case. 

The walls are painted robin-egg blue, and there are cartoons and newspaper cuttings pinned to an overflowing bulletin board near the door. Someone who worked here clearly loved chickens, because half of the kitschy art hung on the walls is chicken-themed. Many of the patrons sipping their coffees at the mismatched tables and plush couches are dressed in relaxed, hippie-ish clothing; lots of workout gear and Birkenstocks. Everyone seems unhurried and friendly. It couldn’t be more different from a hip New York espresso bar if it tried. Kurapika would be wildly out of place here with his sleek black suits and private chauffeurs...

“Hon?” 

The barista is waiting expectantly for Leorio to order. Blushing, he blinks rapidly and asks for the simplest thing on the menu (a large Americano), and hopes that he wasn’t spacing out for too long. He’s been doing that a lot these days.

“Sorry about that. I think the heat is getting to me,” he says abashedly, leaving an extra-large tip. The barista, a tiny blonde woman, waves her hand and chuckles. 

“You’re fine, sweetie. It’s a hot one out there. Here, have some water too,” she says, offering Leorio an ice-cold can of seltzer. “My nephew is your age and is always forgetting to hydrate.” Her accent makes the word come out ha-dray-eight. 

“Thanks!” Leorio says gratefully, accepting the drink and immediately gulping down half of it. “Wow, I guess I was thirsty.” 

He moves to the side of the counter to wait for his coffee, glancing at the listings tacked to the bulletin board. 

“You new in town? I haven’t seen you in here before,” the barista continues as she flips on the espresso machine. It churns to life with a rush of hot steam. She’s wearing her hair in curly pigtails, and the effect is weirdly girlish for an adult. “Are you a student?” 

Leorio laughs. “Guilty as charged. Is it that obvious?” 

“Well, your accent is a dead giveaway. What are you looking for on that bulletin board, anyways?” She finishes making his coffee and slides it across the counter. 

“A car. Used, and very cheap, preferably. Do you know anyone who’s selling one?” 

Her eyes light up. “Actually, yes! My nephew has an old Honda he doesn’t drive anymore. What’s your budget?” 

Leorio sips his hot coffee, wincing. “Um...” 

She laughs and scrawls something on a piece of paper before handing it to him. 

“Then you’re in luck. He’s selling it for $800. Here, take his number. I’ll tell him you’re going to call. I mean, really, this car is nothing special. But it runs.” 

“Sounds great!” Leorio says, pocketing the number. “Really, thanks so much. What’s your name?” 

“Biscuit,” she says, offering a very small hand. “Biscuit Krueger. My friends call me Bisky.” 

_Biscuit...? What kind of goofy southern name is that?_

Leorio tries very hard to keep his face neutral as he shakes the woman’s hand. Her grip is shockingly strong. 

“Awesome. Thanks, Bisky. And thanks for the coffee, too.” 

* * *

Two hours later, Leorio is the proud new owner of a beat-up 2002 Honda Civic. It’s bright blue and has 160,000 miles on the odometer, but Leorio doesn’t mind. He’s grateful to Bisky for the help. 

Her nephew turns out to be a muscular young guy who introduces himself, much to Leorio’s amusement, as Knuckle. They’ve met in the parking lot of a Petco, both sweating under the hot afternoon sun. 

“Thanks a million,” Knuckle says as Leorio hands over the check. “It still runs fine, but I’m saving up money. Every last bit helps right now.” 

“Been there,” Leorio answers truthfully. “I know it’s tough. You trying to go back to school?” 

Knuckle looks embarrassed. 

“No, actually, I...” he begins, glancing towards the Petco, “I’m trying to start an animal shelter. One of the no-kill ones, you know?” His large brown eyes glimmer with tears. “I just c-can’t stand thinking about any animals getting put to sleep.” 

He looks so upset that Leorio gives him an awkward pat on the shoulder, car keys jangling in his hand. 

“I hear you, man. Right on. Once I start making some money, I’ll donate whatever I can.” 

Knuckle sniffs and wipes his eyes. “Thanks, dude. Sorry. God, I’m just hopeless when it comes to the critters. It was Leroy, right?” 

“Leorio. It’s a weird one, I know.” 

“My bad! Cool, man.” 

“All good,” Leorio says, opening the car door. “Thanks again!” 

Knuckle waves goodbye as Leorio starts the car and drives out of the parking lot. As Bisky promised, the car runs just fine. It’s old and rattly, and the upholstery smells vaguely of cigarettes, but it’s his. It will make life a lot easier. 

* * *

The next morning Leorio wakes up early to explore the town. He wants to walk up to the metal star on top of the mountain before it gets too hot. According to Google Maps, the star is 3.2 miles away from his house, which seems doable. He fills up a water bottle with tap water and sets out into the sunny morning.

He quickly realizes that walking long-ish distances in the suburbs is very different from walking miles and miles in New York City. For one thing, there are barely any sidewalks, and he keeps having to trudge along the asphalt shoulder of two-lane highways, frequently ducking into the long grass to avoid getting hit by a passing semi-truck. It’s also much hotter than he realized. He’s sweating through his long-sleeve button down after ten minutes. 

After thirty uncomfortable minutes of walking in the sun, he reaches the start of the mountain trail that leads up to the star. The coolness of the woods is a relief, and he unbuttons his shirt down to the middle of his chest to get some fresh air on his sweaty skin. 

The trail grows steeper and steeper as he reaches the top. After another thirty minutes of climbing, he emerges onto a wooden platform underneath the huge metal star. A few mothers with toddlers in strollers are standing around and taking pictures, but it’s early enough that it isn’t crowded. 

He strides onto the platform and whistles appreciatively at the view. From here, he can see for what was probably hundreds of miles across the valley all the way to the distant blue mountains on the horizon. Roanoke looks like a model-train set from here. He shields his eyes from the sun and scans the city until he spots his own tiny house. 

“Wow!” he says aloud, and a nearby woman giggles. He blushes and realizes that his shirt is still unbuttoned. He hastily buttons it back up as the woman approaches, pushing a flushed baby in a stroller. 

“Are you visiting?” she asks, smiling and tucking a strand of curly dark hair behind her ear. “Quite a view, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, no,” Leorio says, covertly wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I actually just moved here and haven’t been up here yet. What is this thing, anyways?” 

“Just a tourist spot, I think,” the woman says, fanning herself with a manicured hand. Leorio can’t help but notice that she isn’t wearing a wedding ring. “It’s real pretty at night, though. What did you move here for?”

“Med school. I came down here from New York.” 

“Oh, a city boy!” she laughs, her cheeks dimpling. She pulls a business card out of her purse and hands it to Leorio. “Well, if you ever need a haircut, you just come by my salon. Nice meeting you!” 

_Everyone here is so friendly,_ Leorio thinks as the woman waves goodbye and pushes her baby back down towards the trail. A minute later, it dawns on him that she was probably hitting on him. Ah. 

He spends another ten minutes walking around the platform and admiring the views, pausing to take a photo for a group of tourists. Once he’s satisfied that he’s explored the place, he heads back into the woods and begins the long walk home. 

This had to be the place Kurapika was mentioning. What could be more obvious than a huge star on a mountaintop? It was like X marks the spot on a treasure map. He’s filled with renewed energy as he walks back through his neighborhood, dripping with sweat in the intense noon sun. 

* * *

After stopping by his apartment to change into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, Leorio walks downtown to continue exploring. There’s a charming brick square in the middle of the city, and he spends a pleasant hour walking around, admiring the colorful flower arrangements and peeking inside touristy art galleries. Compared to New York, he feels like he’s on a movie set. Everything here is so small and tidy. It also smells a lot better here. Nobody is peeing onto the sidewalk, for one. He orders a lemonade from a cafe and sits on a park bench to drink it, zoning out and idly watching the people go by. 

Once he’s down to the ice cubes in his drink, it occurs to him that he hasn’t checked the Japanese news on the murder at the Mainichi auction for a while. Earlier in the summer he had gotten into the habit of checking obsessively to ensure that Kurapika’s name wasn’t popping up anywhere, but after a while it had made him so queasy and nervous that he forced himself to stop. 

Apprehensively, he pulls up the NHK website and scans the crime section. A headline catches his eye at once, and clicks on it with suddenly trembling fingers. 

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN AUCTION HOUSE MURDER

The rest of the article won’t load into English, but he scans the article quickly for a photo, paralysed with anxiety, until he sees a mugshot of an unfamiliar man with long dark hair and a strange tattoo on his forehead. 

He takes a screenshot of the entire page to translate later, but he’s almost giddy with relief. If they had someone else in custody as a suspect, that meant that Kurapika was no longer a primary target of suspicion. He exhales a long breath and tips the remaining ice cubes into his mouth. 

* * *

Leorio continues exploring Roanoke over the next few days, but he can’t find anywhere else that seems as obvious of a meeting place as the star. He constantly keeps an eye out for Kurapika, but doesn’t see anyone remotely resembling him. 

Feeling lonely, he calls both Zepile and Senritsu to video chat so he can show them his new apartment. They’re both impressed by how much space he has and by his in-unit washer and dryer. That was an utterly unattainable luxury in New York. His new place is literally three times as big as his old apartment, and costs about half as much. 

It’s a good thing that his rent is cheap, because his school textbooks cost an arm and a leg. He can’t believe how expensive they are, even purchased second hand at the school bookstore. He’s starting to wonder if he might want to find a part-time job to help supplement his student loans, which were quickly disappearing between his moving expenses, textbooks, and tuition. 

On his way out of the campus bookstore, he pauses to peruse a bulletin board covered in fliers, scanning it for any potential jobs. As he’s flipping through layers of tattered advertisements for babysitters, cleaning services, mobile pet groomers, and life coaches, a sheet of neon green construction paper catches his eye. 

TRAIN WITH BISCUIT, screams the WordArt font at the top of the flier. 

_Are you looking for a top-notch martial arts education? Do you need self-defense training? Look no further! Biscuit Krueger is a black belt Karate instructor with additional expertise in jujitsu, aikido, capoeira, tae kwon do, judo, and more. Available for private or group lessons for all ages. Inquire below!_

The bottom of the flier is divided into tear-off sections listing her phone number. Grinning, Leorio rips one off and pockets it. No wonder her hand shake was so strong. She nearly yanked his hand off when they met in the coffee shop. 

* * *

Later that evening, sitting on his porch steps drinking a beer, Leorio watches a family of deer wander across his lawn. He’s delighted by the sight, and freezes so he doesn’t scare them off. They graze placidly in his unmowed yard, occasionally pausing to glance across the road towards the sound of traffic. 

A cloud of glowing fireflies rises over the grass in the dusk. He can’t remember ever seeing fireflies in New York. As the night grows darker, he watches in astonishment as their golden sparkles of light float into the treetops.

* * *

Nine days after his arrival in Roanoke, Leorio jolts awake at 5:30 am, immediately filled with excitement. He’s finally supposed to meet Kurapika later that night. Right now, lying in bed in the predawn darkness, it feels like an impossibly long wait. 

To kill time, he goes on a long run through the woods, deliberately leaving his phone behind so he’ll get lost and the run will take longer. It’s been a while since he’s exercised at all, and it’s painfully evident after the first ten minutes of jogging. He pants for breath and clutches at a stitch in his side as he climbs a particularly steep hill, promising himself that he’ll get in better shape. 

Once he finds his way home, he takes a long shower and cooks a plate of pancakes, but he’s so full of nervous energy that he can only swallow a few bites. He paces the apartment like a caged tiger for a while, pausing to flip through his new textbooks, but after thirty minutes of walking in circles he’s annoyed with himself and can’t take it anymore. 

He drives to a nearby movie theater and buys a ticket for the latest spy thriller. All he knows about it is that it’s long, which is a good thing. He gets a small bag of popcorn and walks into the icily air-conditioned theater, feeling cocooned by the velvety darkness after the bright early afternoon sun outside. 

Because he’s eating mindlessly and anxiously, he finishes his entire bag of salty popcorn before the previews are over. He’s intensely thirsty throughout the entire movie, which ends up being sort of boring despite the numerous car chases and sex scenes, but maybe he just can’t follow the plot because he’s so distracted. Either way, eventually the two hours and 27 minutes pass, and he emerges, blinking and dazed, into the hot afternoon sun. 

* * *

By the time he drives home it’s almost 4 pm. He’s fizzing with so much anticipation that he just feels tired. He lies down on his couch and stares at the wall for a long time, trying to imagine what it will actually feel like to see Kurapika again after four months. 

The last time they saw each other was the night they finally slept together, right before Kurapika flew back to Japan. The entirety of their friendship before that had been rife with unspoken attraction and tension, and although it may have only been sympathy for Pietro’s death that caused Kurapika to finally act, Leorio wants to believe that what they experienced was real. He’s never felt anything close to that for anyone before, and the thought of pursuing anyone else now that he’s been with Kurapika seems ludicrous.   
  
How will Kurapika react when he sees Leorio again? Will they kiss? Will Kurapika acknowledge that anything happened? Leorio closes his eyes and digs his palms against his forehead, exhaling a long breath. The minutes are passing so slowly that he checks the microwave in the kitchen to make sure that his phone hasn’t frozen. It hasn’t. 

Thankfully, picking an outfit for the meeting occupies the better part of the next hour. Somehow every possibility looks simultaneously as though he’s trying too hard and not enough. He finally settles on a pair of jeans and a gray polo shirt, and sprays himself liberally with his Armani cologne. The heat makes him so sweaty that he doesn’t want to risk any stinkiness.

At 7:30, he performs a final armpit and breath smell test, glances in the mirror one last time, and heads out the door with his phone, keys, and wallet. It’s only a five-minute drive to the star, but he certainly isn’t going to risk being late. 

Once he parks his car in the visitor lot and walks the remaining hundred feet up to the platform, he scans the area to decide where to go. He ends up choosing to stand near the informational placard in the front center of the platform, thinking that it’s the most visible place for him to wait.   
  
The star is lit up with neon at night, and it really is a nice effect, glowing against the indigo twilight sky. He can see why it’s such a popular tourist attraction. The valley below is aglow with hundred of twinkling buildings and windows. Streams of traffic are blurred into rivers of red and gold. 

It’s not too crowded, but there are about a dozen people milling about and snapping selfies. A Chinese family takes picture after picture in front of the star, and a thin woman with long silver hair checks her phone repeatedly. Leorio flexes his hands in his pockets, glancing around every time a new person comes into view. At 8:03 there’s still no sign of Kurapika, and Leorio’s nerves are shot. 

The thin woman passes him on her way off of the platform, and a piece of paper falls from her purse. Leorio stoops down to grab the paper before it blows away in the evening breeze, but before he can straighten up and give it back to her, she’s gone. 

A familiar minty smell hangs in the air. He looks down at the paper and feels a cold rush of adrenaline as he reads the handwriting: 

_Wait 10 minutes, act natural, and then find the green Prius waiting in the parking lot. The driver’s side is unlocked. Pick me up in front of the women’s bathrooms after you’re sure nobody has seen you leave. K_

His pulse hammers in his ears. Pocketing the note, he straightens up and heads back towards the front of the platform to take pictures and pretend to admire the view. He feels like he’s going to throw up. Was that...?

The ten minute wait feels interminable. Finally, he walks nonchalantly down to the parking lot, ignoring his own parked car, and opens the door of the green Prius. Judging from the absence of personal belongings and the strong new car smell, it’s a rental. He presses the touch button ignition, and the car purrs to life immediately. He drives it carefully down the hill to the women’s bathroom and waits, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

After another minute the silver-haired figure emerges from the bathroom and opens the passenger door. 

“Hello, Leorio,” Kurapika says, slamming the door shut and removing his dark glasses. “Thank you for meeting me here.” 


	2. no one knows where you are

For a moment Leorio is so overwhelmed that he can’t speak, and merely stares at Kurapika, open-mouthed. 

“You’re here,” he says stupidly, his heart beating fast. Kurapika’s familiar minty citrus smell is even stronger inside the car, and it’s doing all sorts of strange things to his body. “Holy shit. What are you doing here?” he asks, breathless. 

Kurapika gives him a taut smile, readjusting his wig and gesturing towards the road. 

“I’ll explain. But first, can you drive us to your apartment? I can’t be sure that we’re not being watched here.” 

“Uh. Sure,” Leorio says, and puts the car in drive. “Sorry, I’ve never driven one of these before,” he apologizes as he accelerates jerkily down the mountain. “My car is like, 1000% less responsive than this.” 

“No matter,” Kurapika says lightly. “I’ll drop you off to retrieve your car here later this evening, by the way.” 

“Wait,” Leorio says, “you’re not even gonna stay the night?” 

“I can only stay for a short while,” Kurapika replies, checking his phone. “I’m sorry. Thank you again for meeting me. I’m sorry it had to be so convoluted, but I can’t be too careful. For your sake, too.” 

Leorio has a million things that he wants to say, but somehow as he drives back through his neighborhood and approaches his apartment, he can’t find the words. Once they’re parked in his driveway, he turns off the car and rotates in his seat to get a proper look at Kurapika.   
  
“You're here,” he says again. “My god, Kurapika. You look…”   
  
He trails off, because the reality is that Kurapika looks terrible. Even in the darkness, he can clearly see deep, bruised circles underneath Kurapika’s eyes. It’s obvious that he’s lost a lot of weight, too; his cheekbones and shoulders jut out at painfully sharp angles. 

“I’ve been busy,” Kurapika says with a half-smile, watching Leorio appraise him. “So. I suppose I should explain to you why I’ve contacted you.” 

“Can we go inside first?” Leorio asks. “Please?” 

Kurapika hesitates before nodding.

“Sure. Will you please open the trunk?” 

Leorio steps out of the car and pops the trunk to reveal a familiar black duffel bag. It’s the same one Kurapika had in Japan. His eyes widen as Kurapika walks to join him. 

“Is this…” Leorio begins, not wanting to be insensitive, “is this...what you recovered in...in Tokyo?” 

Kurapika nods. 

“Yes. Leorio, would you be able to keep them safe, here in your house? You’re…” he pauses, looking away, “you’re the only person I trust. I’m traveling so much that it’s impractical to carry them with me, but I can’t stand the thought of leaving them anywhere else.” 

They stand in the dark driveway facing one another without speaking for a long moment. Moths flutter clumsily in the lamplight as Leorio searches Kurapika’s face in the shadows. He’s never seen Kurapika look so vulnerable. He reaches out to push a strand of Kurapika’s silver wig out of his face. 

“Jesus. Yeah. Of course,” he says in a low voice, choked with emotion. “Of course, Kurapika.” 

“Are you sure?” Kurapika asks, his brow furrowing. “It’s a liability for you, I realize. If you’re uncomfortable, I understand.” 

“No. No. Of course. I...I would be honored,” Leorio says, and Kurapika’s face loosens with relief. 

They carry the duffel bag inside Leorio’s apartment and nestle it securely in the back of his closet. For good measure, Leorio covers it with a pile of winter sweaters. Kurapika watches appraisingly, perched on his bed. He’s holding the silver wig in his hands, fiddling with the long strands of synthetic hair. 

“Thank you. I feel so much better,” Kurapika says, smiling a genuine smile, and Leorio feels himself flush from his scalp from his toes. 

“No problem. Um...are you hungry?” he asks, pulling anxiously at his shirt collar. “I can make you something, or, if you’re thirsty, I have stuff too. Or do you need to take a shower or anything? You look…” 

“I know I don’t look well,” Kurapika admits, standing up. “But I’m all right, I promise. I’d take some water before we go. How are you doing? How’s school?” 

“Sure!” Leorio says, leaping up to fill a glass with water and bring it back to Kurapika. “School starts next week. But hang on. How did you get that note to me in the first place?”

Kurapika shrugs as he drinks the glass of water. 

“You changed your address publicly. It wasn’t hard to find.” 

“But...how did you get the note here?” Leorio says again. “It was sitting in my cabinet. Did you break in or something?” 

“Not at all. I sent your landlord the note and promised that I’d wire him $100 if he left it in the cabinet. Based on the negligible profit he’s making from your rent, I surmised correctly that he would do as I asked.” 

Leorio shakes his head. 

“You are so weird. You know that? Other people use the mail, and their phones.” 

“I’m sorry, Leorio,” Kurapika says again, smiling tiredly, and he really does sound sorry. 

“Ah, well. It happens,” Leorio says gruffly. “No harm, no foul.” 

Leorio is finding it hard not to stare at Kurapika. He’s so familiar and exciting all at once that he barely seems real. Even though he looks exhausted and drawn, he’s still the same magnetic, interesting, beautiful Kurapika who knocked Leorio flat on his ass last spring. His face is sprinkled with a new dusting of freckles from the summer sun, and his dark, vivid eyes seem even larger in his thin face. His lips are forever quirked upwards, making him look as though he’s always smiling slightly. Leorio aches to reach out and hold him. 

“I like your wallpaper,” Kurapika says politely, and Leorio can’t help but laugh.   
  
“Get the fuck out of here,” he says, giving Kurapika a playful shove. “Come on. Talk to me. I haven’t seen you in months and months and you show up here like this and then tell me you like my wallpaper. Shut up. You asshole.” 

Kurapika laughs too and shoves Leorio back, and somehow after another moment of jostling they end up holding each other so tightly that Leorio can barely breathe. 

Kurapika is still laughing, and there’s a note of hysteria to it. Leorio presses him to his chest even more firmly, speaking into his soft hair. 

“I fucking missed you. I missed you. Where have you been?” he murmurs, kissing the top of his head. “What the fuck is going on with you, Kurapika?”

Kurapika’s wild laughter has turned to sobs. Judging by the sound of his ragged breath, he's almost hyperventilating. Alarmed, Leorio strokes his hair and rubs his back, trying to calm him down. 

“Hey. Deep breaths. I’m not mad at you, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay. Try to breathe.” 

Kurapika allows Leorio to lead him into the living room and settle him onto the couch. Leorio grabs another glass of water and a wet washcloth before returning to his side, putting the glass into his hands and wiping his puffy face with the washcloth. His breathing seems to be returning to normal, but he’s still crying, wet tears sliding down his cheeks and neck.   
  
“Can you talk to me?” Leorio asks gently, crouching down in front of him. “Hey. It’s okay.” 

Kurapika takes a shuddering breath before opening his eyes to look at him, wiping his runny nose with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Forgive me. I don’t know why that happened. That’s never happened to me before,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s totally okay!” Leorio says swiftly, patting him on the leg. “Hey, I’m not trying to be mean, but you look so, so exhausted. Sometimes when you’re that tired, everything comes out all at once.” 

He turns to check the clock on the wall, which reads 9:47 pm. He doesn’t want to let Kurapika leave in this state. 

“Look,” he continues, sitting beside Kurapika and putting an arm around his bony shoulders, “it’s getting late. Why don’t you sleep here tonight? We can talk more in the morning.” 

“I have to get going,” Kurapika says, his voice almost frantic. “I have a lot of work to do.” He turns to look for his phone and wig, but Leorio reaches out to lay a firm hand on his wrist. 

“What can you possibly get done tonight? You need to sleep. Look, I’ll put fresh sheets on my bed and you can sleep there and I’ll take the couch. You can leave first in the morning. I can just walk to get my car later tomorrow. It’s not far.” 

Kurapika sits in silence for a long moment, fidgeting with his sleeve. He’s so tired that his eyelids are almost closing, but Leorio can see that he’s fighting it with everything he has. 

“Well…” he starts, looking up at Leorio, “I...I guess that’s okay. You don’t have to sleep on the couch, though.” 

“Oh!” Leorio says, too quickly. “Well. If you’re sure. We, um, don’t have to, you know...do anything. I know you’re tired.” 

Kurapika surprises him by chuckling at that remark. 

“I don’t think I have the energy for anything at this point,” he says, getting to his feet. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Leorio makes a sound of mock outrage, leading Kurapika back into the bedroom. 

“You come all the way here and won’t put out? What a jerk,” he says as he shakes out his comforter, and Kurapika laughs again. 

Leorio feels like his heart might burst with happiness as he watches Kurapika undress down to his boxers and white T-shirt and pad into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. How many times had he dreamed of this? 

Once Leorio is ready for bed, he turns off the lights and gets under the covers next to Kurapika, who moves closer and nudges his head underneath Leorio’s arm. Leorio adjusts so that he’s holding Kurapika against his bare chest and strokes his hair. Kurapika falls deeply asleep almost immediately, his breathing evening out and tickling Leorio’s arm. 

Leorio is too wired to fall asleep, and a part of him wants to stay awake to enjoy this time spent close to Kurapika. He lies in the darkness without making a sound, breathing in Kurapika’s scent and occasionally leaning down to kiss his forehead. 

* * *

At some point Leorio must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows Kurapika is gently shaking him awake and the bedroom is filled with pale early morning sunlight. He blinks groggily and sees that Kurapika is already fully dressed in his female disguise, standing next to the bed. 

“Good morning. I’m sorry to wake you, but I figured you would rather that I did so before leaving,” he says quietly, reaching up to adjust his silver wig. 

“Mmf. Hold on,” Leorio says, struggling to make sense of what’s happening. “You’re leaving already? What time is it?” He fumbles to check the time on his cell phone, and it’s only 6:17 am. “It’s so early. You really have to go?” 

“I do,” Kurapika says. “I have to meet a private flight at the airport in two hours. The Nostrades are on their way to Berlin on business, and I have to accompany them. I’m sorry. Thank you for last night. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” 

Leorio gets stiffly out of bed as Kurapika walks towards the door. He feels helpless. 

“You’re just leaving again? Can I call you? When will I see you?” 

Kurapika pauses in the doorway, smiling apologetically. 

“I can’t give you my number. It’s too dangerous for you. But I promise that I’ll call you. I’ll be back before too long. I hope the beginning of school goes well for you.” 

He stands on his tiptoes to kiss Leorio on the cheek, and Leorio stands frozen in place, bemused and still half-asleep. 

“Goodbye, Leorio. I’ll see you soon. Thank you for this,” Kurapika says, and before Leorio can say anything else, he’s out the door and driving away in the green Prius. 

* * *

Leorio tries his best to put the entire encounter out of his mind as school starts. If he lets himself think about it for longer than a minute or two, he’ll fall apart, and he needs to dedicate every ounce of concentration and effort towards his studying. 

He’s unsure about what to wear to his first day of school, but ends up choosing his favorite blue suit with a white button down and black silk tie. When he attended med school classes in New York, everyone tended to dress to impress. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to look nice. 

The minute he steps into the lecture hall for his first biology class, he regrets his decision. Almost every other student is dressed casually in jeans and short sleeved shirts, and some are even wearing workout clothing. His neck starts to sweat, and he hastily loosens his tie. 

The hall is rapidly filling with students. He chooses a seat near a friendly looking brunette and settles in next to her. She smiles and reveals a mouthful of braces as she introduces herself. 

“Hi there! I’m Audrey,” she says, extending a hand. “Wow, you’re really dressed up!” 

“Hi, Audrey!” Leorio says, shaking her hand. “I’m Leorio. Oh, this...I actually have to go to a...a funeral right after this,” he improvises wildly. 

A few students in the row in front of them crane their necks to look at him, and Audrey looks aghast, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry! A funeral? Was it someone you knew well?”

“No, no,” Leorio says soothingly, getting out his textbooks, “it was just my...my aunt’s sister.” He thinks about that for a moment and amends it. “Well, her...her sister-in-law, that is. On the other side of the family.” 

Audrey gives him a strange look as she gets out her own laptop. Mercifully, the professor is now standing at the podium and testing the mic. Leorio inwardly curses his entire existence. 

By the end of the first day, however, Leorio is so energized by his new classes that he’s forgotten about his awkward conversation with Audrey. He goes home buzzing with excitement for everything that he’s about to learn. Once he’s back in his apartment, he takes off his suit and wads in deep in the back of his closet, vowing to never make the same mistake.

* * *

After his second week of classes, Leorio feels more purposeful and driven than he has in years. It feels good to work hard, and damn it, he’s doing well. Other students have already started to struggle in certain classes, but Leorio feels confident in all of the material so far. It helps that he previously took some classes in New York, but the teachers for those classes had been so much worse that he’s not sure if they even counted. Either way, he’s never learned more new information in such a short period of time. 

It’s almost enough to make him forget about Kurapika’s visit; almost, but not quite. It’s hard not to leap for his phone every time it rings, but so far it’s been nothing but radio silence. The pillows in Leorio’s bed still smell faintly of Kurapika’s minty shampoo, and he can’t bring himself to wash them yet. He knows it’s pathetic, but it helps him sleep. 

* * *

Leorio decides to drive to the beach the Saturday of Labor Day Weekend. Since he gets the following Monday off from school, he has a little extra time to study, and he’s eager to see the ocean. It’s about two hours away, but after three weeks of long school days and intense studying, a long drive sounds relaxing.   
  
He cranks down the car windows as he drives out of town, enjoying the humid breeze on his face. It feels good to go somewhere that isn’t school or the hospital. The last time he went to the beach was four or five years ago, and it was Coney Island, which barely counted. He always loved swimming in Puerto Rico as a kid when he visited his uncles, and remembers the disappointment he felt the first time that he went to a New York beach. Compared to the crystal-clear turquoise waves in San Juan, the Brooklyn waterfront was murky and unappealing. 

Predictably, there’s a fair amount of traffic on the freeway today. Everyone had the same idea as Leorio. The Honda drives okay, but he’s started to notice that it has a hard time maintaining speeds faster than 50 miles per hour, which was a problem when everyone around him wanted to drive 80. He has to constantly rev the engine to keep it at a consistent speed. 

Most of the drive is beautiful. He’s able to take smaller country roads the majority of the way, and the countryside is verdant and lush. Halfway through the drive, he stops at a run-down gas station to buy a cheap pair of sandals, some sunscreen, and a six-pack of Coronas. 

As the tobacco-chewing cashier rings him up, Leorio can’t help but stare at an enormous jar of pickled pig’s feet by the register. They’re suspended in an unnaturally bright magenta liquid. 

“Two for a buck,” mumbles the cashier, noticing Leorio’s gaze. 

“Oh, uh, no thanks,” Leorio says at once. “That’s okay.” He pockets his change, hesitating. “What...what do they taste like?” 

The cashier blinks and readjusts his wad of tobacco in his lips, saying nothing. 

“Huh. Well, thanks anyways,” Leorio says brightly, and hurries back to his car. 

The air starts to smell salty when he’s about twenty miles away from the coast. It sends a little-kid thrill of anticipation through his veins. As he drives, he pulls up a Tom Waits album on his phone and plays it loudly through his speakers. Lately he’s been listening to more and more music that Pietro liked. He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or worse, but it makes him think about Pietro, and he needs that. 

Most of the time, Pietro’s death still seems impossibly surreal. Sometimes Leorio can go several hours without thinking about him, and that makes him feel terrible. Some mornings he wakes up and doesn’t think about Pietro at all until he’s already making his coffee, or driving to school. Was it really possible to forget about your best friend in the span of a few months? 

He sings along over the rushing wind and feels a powerful ache rising in his chest. If he gets drunk tonight, he’ll have a good cry. It was always a relief when that happened. Sadness was preferable to numbness. 

* * *

Leorio is pleasantly surprised by the beach. The ocean is light green and white capped, and the warm air smells gloriously of salt spray and seaweed and French fries from the nearby boardwalk cafes. He kicks off his shoes when he reaches the sand, enjoying the feel of it on his bare feet. The top layer is hot from the sun, but when he wiggles his toes he feels the cooler moisture beneath the surface. 

After finding a not-too-crowded spot to drop his towel and backpack, he pulls off his T-shirt and slathers himself with sunscreen. He’s too impatient to let it soak in for fifteen minutes, and runs immediately towards the ocean. He splashes in quickly, dunking his head underwater to get it over with.

“Ack! Cold!” 

He spits out a salty mouthful of water and paddles out deeper over the rolling waves. The ocean is much colder than the air, but it feels wonderful on his skin. He had forgotten how much he loved swimming. He does a couple of experimental laps back and forth, relishing the sting of the salt and the insistent pull of the undertow. 

Once he’s about fifty feet out, he turns toward the beach to watch the people on the shore. Families with small children are playing in the shallows and building sandcastles, and older folks are sunbathing with newspapers covering their faces. The tantalizing smell of grilled hamburgers wafts down the beach, making his stomach grumble. From here, people’s voices are faint, almost entirely drowned out by the gentle roar of the waves. He hears a tugboat horn somewhere way out at sea. 

A young couple is holding hands in the surf not far from him, stealing kisses and laughing as they pretend to push each other into the water. He thinks about Kurapika and feels a sharp pang.   
  
He flips over to float on his back, staring up at the cloudless sky. Far, far above, he spots an albatross flying serenely, gliding on an air current without moving its enormous wings.

* * *

Leorio swims until his fingers start to prune up before trudging back to shore to flop onto his towel. He wants to take a cat nap in the early evening sun and drive home around sunset. Eyes half-closed, he lies on his stomach and watches the golden light sparkling on the green surface of the ocean. Most of the families are heading home for the day, tired and sunburnt, and before long the beach is almost empty. 

He lets himself doze, lulled by the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun on his back. Dreams are forming like clouds at the edge of his consciousness, and as he slips deeper into his nap he imagines that Kurapika is lying beside him, reaching over to touch his face. Somewhere in the dream a bell is ringing. Leorio sighs and brushes his fingers through Kurapika’s cornsilk-soft hair. 

At some point he becomes aware that his phone is ringing in real life. He jolts awake, rubbing the sand off of his face and rummaging through his backpack. It’s an unfamiliar number, and he hesitates to answer it. Was it a debt collector? He’s up to date on everything, but some of the companies were ruthless. His thumb hovers over the answer button as he deliberates. 

“...Hello?” 

He holds his breath, waiting for a reply. There’s a clattering noise on the other line. 

“Leorio?” 

His heart jumps into his throat at once. He releases his breath, gazing out at the horizon. 

“Kurapika! You scared me. I didn’t know this was your new number.” 

“It’s not. I’m just borrowing a phone for now. How are you?” 

“Where are you? Who are you with?” Leorio asks at once, picking up a handful of sand and letting it fall through his fingers. He watches a cruise ship moving slowly on the horizon. “Are you in the States?” 

“No,” Kurapika says, only answering one question. Leorio hears muffled voices in the background, and Kurapika pauses to say something in Japanese to somebody before continuing. “How’s school going? I’ve been thinking about you.”  
  
“Yeah, I...” Leorio starts, “I’m doing okay, I guess. It’s hard.”

“I’ve heard that the first year of medical school is very challenging,” Kurapika says politely. Leorio laughs. 

“Yeah, you could say that again. It’s a real bitch. I, uh, already did one year back in New York a couple years ago, but since I was so stressed out back then with...with Pietro and everything, I decided to start over and not transfer any credits, just to make sure I really got it, you know? So. Yeah. I actually am familiar with a lot of the material already, but it’s still just as hard. It’s good, though. Yeah.” 

He’s aware that he’s rambling, and pauses to catch his breath. 

“But really, Kurapika, what’s up? Where are you?”

“Well, I’ve been quite busy recently.” 

“Oh. Cool. I guess that’s good. Any plans to come back this way anytime soon?” Leorio asks. “Or are you in Japan? Wait, this is a US number, right?” He glances at the phone to confirm the area code. “652. Where is that?” 

“Don’t look it up,” Kurapika says brusquely. “I have to stay on the move, as you know.” 

“Well, I’m still gonna look,” Leorio retorts, feeling churlish. “Just to see.” 

“I explained to you before why I can’t divulge my location, Leorio, because—” 

“I know, I know,” Leorio interrupts, “it’s safer this way, but you’re the one who called me, pal, so I figure I’m at least allowed to ask.” 

Kurapika sighs noisily, and they both fall silent for an exasperated moment. Seagulls call to one another as they wheel and dive over the waves. 

“I’m at the beach,” Leorio offers, not wanting Kurapika to hang up. “It’s beautiful here.” 

“...Oh. What beach?” 

“Virginia Beach. It was kinda crowded earlier, but it’s nice.” 

Kurapika hums in agreement. “What time is it there for you? I’m not sure what our time difference is at the moment.” 

“Sunset. Bout 8 pm. What time is it for you?” 

“Late enough that I’m tired, I suppose. I’m not sure what time zone I’m in, to tell the truth.” 

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Leorio asks, leaning back on his towel to look at the sky. A single bright star rises in the blue twilight. “You sound tired.” 

“I’m all right,” Kurapika says, his voice softening. “Actually, I’m getting in bed. Tell me about the beach.” 

Leorio smiles in spite of himself. 

“Okay. Well, it’s this big area of sand, and then there’s this really really big thing of water, and—”

“Leorio!” Kurapika huffs. “I’m serious. I want to picture where you are.”

“Okay, okay,” Leorio relents. “I’m sorry.” He settles his head into the sand and looks up at the emerging stars. “Well, the sun is almost down now, so the sky’s turning a really nice shade of, like, dark turquoise. You know?”

“Mm. What constellations are visible?” 

“Oh, um,” Leorio says, scratching his nose, “well, I’m not exactly sure, but I think the bright one is Venus. Or maybe Mars? I dunno. I always forget which are which.”

“It’s a useful skill,” Kurapika says, sounding sleepy. “I can show you sometime. If you’re ever lost in the wilderness, it’s important to know.”

“Ah. Of course you know that.”

Kurapika makes an indignant sound, and Leorio chuckles. 

“Just teasing. Anyways, it isn’t totally dark yet, but the water looks black now. The waves have died down a lot. Um...” 

“Did you swim?” Kurapika asks through a yawn. “Was the water cold?”

“Yes, and yes.” 

“That sounds nice. I haven’t gone swimming in a very long time.”

“Well, come visit me and we can go to the beach. It isn’t too far.” 

“But you have school.”

“Eh, I can play hooky sometime,” Leorio lies, putting an arm beneath his head. His pulse quickens, and he opens his mouth before he loses his nerve. “Hey, Kurapika...” 

“What?” 

“I miss you,” Leorio admits. “I...I really miss you.” 

He closes his eyes. Kurapika is quiet for a long time, and Leorio worries that he’s dozed off. 

“I miss you too,” he says at last, very softly. “Will you talk to me until I fall asleep?” 

“Of course. Of course, sweetheart. What should I talk about?”

“Anything. I just want to hear your voice.” 

“All right. Let’s see. I can see a few cruise ships way out at sea, and there are some crabs crawling around. Oops, one is on my foot. Um...I just realized I never ate dinner, so I’m pretty hungry, but oh well, cheaper that way. Uh...” 

He scans his mind to think of other topics, but Kurapika’s breathing has already evened out. 

Just in case, Leorio keeps him on the line while he packs up his towel and walks back to his car in the dark. Since he’s lost without a map out here, he has to end the call to use his GPS to drive home. Before he hangs up, he tells Kurapika goodnight very quietly so as not to wake him up. He needs the sleep. 

* * *

Leorio gets home at midnight, gritty with sand and utterly exhausted. He takes a quick shower before collapsing into bed, his mind whirling with memories of the day and the phone call with Kurapika. As he lies in bed, he still feels the sensation of the waves rocking him back and forth. 

As he’s drifting off, he realizes that he never got drunk and cried about Pietro. He isn’t sure how to feel about that. Before he gets any farther thinking about it, he falls asleep. 


	3. it's a long time since I drank champagne

Leorio’s school schedule quickly dominates everything else in his life. After the first month of classes, he’s more tired than he’s been in years. For once, he isn’t having trouble sleeping at night. His eyes close the second his head hits the pillow. 

The other first-year students are all nice enough, but Leorio doesn’t have the energy to socialize. He’s been invited to a handful of happy hours and Friday night bar meet-ups, but he’s so intent on studying and keeping up with classwork that when he has free time, all he wants to do is work and sleep. He knows that networking is important, but the thought of making small talk with a roomful of polite near-strangers after a long day of school is too much to handle at the moment. 

He has to set timers to remind himself to take study breaks to eat and go grocery shopping every now and then. On a Sunday afternoon at the end of September, he’s engrossed in his biology textbook when his phone starts beeping at him. Thinking that it’s a timer going off, he tries to hit snooze, wanting to finish the chapter, but a minute later the phone rings again and he realizes that someone is calling him. He scrambles to answer the unfamiliar number, hoping that it isn’t a debt collector. 

“Yes?”

“Oh! Hi, Leorio. Sorry, is this a bad time?” asks a familiar female voice.

“No, no!” Leorio says, trying to figure out who it is. “Um…”

“Oh, it’s Mito, by the way. I got a new phone,” she explains. “How are you doing? How’s school?” 

“Oh! Hi, Mito. It’s nice to hear from you. School’s going well, thanks. What’s up? How are you? How’s Gon?” 

He hears Mito sigh over the phone, and he stiffens. 

“Well, actually…” she starts, “that’s why I’m calling. Gon’s having a bit of a hard time right now.” 

Leorio chews on a pen, leaning forward in his chair. Gon hadn’t returned his last few texts or calls, and he’s been wondering what was going on. 

“Yeah? I kinda wondered. He usually gets back to me when I call.” 

“Yes, well,” Mito says, sounding upset. “It’s Ging. He’s been in contact with Gon again, and it’s really throwing Gon for a loop.” 

“Ugh,” Leorio says, wrinkling his nose. “And I’m guessing you can’t do anything about it.” 

“Right,” Mito agrees. “Even though I have full custody, there’s nothing prohibiting Ging from reaching out unless I get a restraining order, and there’s nothing I can do to prove that I need one.” 

“Yeah. He’s a jerk, but I guess there’s no case for that,” Leorio says, frowning. “So is Gon wanting to spend time with him?”

“Well, that’s what I’m worried about. He’s getting to the age where he needs a male role model in his life, and, well, his grandma and I can’t really provide that. So I was actually wondering...and you can say no if this is out of the question, but, ah…” 

Leorio waits, intrigued, as she pauses and takes a deep breath. 

“Would you consider being Gon’s godfather? Obviously I’m in good health and don’t expect anything to happen to me for a long time,” Mito says through a nervous laugh, “but it would mean a lot to Gon to have someone, more, I don’t know...official. Something that he can talk about at school, you know?” 

“Godfather! Wow! Really?” 

“If it’s too much, I totally understand!” Mito says quickly. “Take your time to think about it all you want. I know how busy you must be.” 

“No, not at all! I would be honored. You know how much I love that kid! Wow. Do I have to sign something? How does it work?” 

Mito laughs, sounding relieved. 

“I’ll look into it, but I think it’s just unofficial. But it will mean so much to him. Thank you.” 

“Are you kidding? Thank you. Gon is the best,” Leorio replies. “Hey, if you want, you could send him to visit me over my break. I get a long time off for Christmas. I’d love to have him for a week or two.” 

“I’m sure he would love that. I’ll ask him tonight, but I’m sure he’ll want to come. Let’s plan on that, if you’re sure it’s all right. Thank you, Leorio,” Mito says. “Really.” 

They talk for a while longer about school and New York and other goings-on before hanging up. As Leorio sets the phone down, he’s aglow with happiness. 

He wishes desperately that he could call Pietro and tell him the news; he would have been suitably impressed. That kind of familial stuff was a big deal for them growing up. Zepile and Senritsu, both raised in white Midwestern suburbia, wouldn’t really get it. He leans back in his chair, sighing. 

* * *

Autumn is beautiful in Virginia. The leaves turn from green to brilliant shades of oranges and golds, and although the sun is still strong during the day, the evenings are chilly. When Leorio opens his windows at night, the air smells of bonfire smoke. 

Now that he’s gotten used to his school schedule, the days and weeks pass quickly. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he has fundamental sciences classes from 8 am to 5:30 pm. During his short lunch breaks at noon, he usually sits outside on the grass and reviews his notes while scarfing down a sandwich. Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, he meets in a small group of students to discuss patient cases and hypothesize possible diagnoses and treatment plans. Tuesday afternoon is anatomy lab, which focuses on dissections, and Thursday afternoon is clinical skills class. 

Every evening when he gets home, he spends about 45 minutes cooking something quick for dinner and doing some bodyweight exercises on the kitchen floor. Once he’s eaten, he gets his notes back out and spends the rest of the night studying. When he finally gets in bed for the night around 10:30 or 11 pm, his eyes ache from reading so much. 

On the weekends he likes to go running in the forest. There are miles of winding trails close to his house, and he slowly works up his endurance until he can run five or six miles without stopping. He spends the first ten minutes of every run groaning and cursing until he finds his stride. As he runs deeper into the woods, his irritation and discomfort gradually melts away until he’s only aware of the smells and sounds of nature and the rhythm of his own breath. He remembers how out of shape he had felt on the Central Park run with Kurapika last spring, and vows to increase his stamina until he can run a half marathon with ease. 

* * *

One sunny Monday afternoon in the middle of October, Leorio is sitting on the lawn looking over his cardiology textbook when a shadow covers the page. He looks up to see his anatomy professor, a green-haired woman named Dr. Cheadle, smiling down at him. 

“Hi, Leorio,” she says, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Studying hard?”

Leorio gives a cursory laugh as he closes his book and gets to his feet to face her. 

“Just trying to keep up. How are you, Dr. Cheadle?”

“Good, thanks. Actually, I have a favor for you,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m working on a research project that’s taking more of my time than I expected at the moment, and I think I need an assistant to help me. I’ve been very impressed by your work so far, and wanted to ask you if you’re interested.” 

“Oh! Really? Me?” Leorio asks in surprise. “I mean, I’d love to do it, but are you sure I’m, um, qualified enough?” 

“Yes,” she says firmly. “You’re a very strong student. Besides, this isn’t anything you can’t handle. Mostly running errands to the hospital, and helping me edit my research. I can’t pay you great, but I could offer you $10 an hour. What do you think?” 

“Of course! I’d love to help. What’s the research about?” 

“It’s for a book I’m writing about anatomical abnormalities. It discusses disorders such as albinism, alopecia, hypertrichosis, and the like.” 

“Cool!” Leorio says, and then immediately feels rather embarrassed. “I mean, that sounds very fascinating,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I’d love to help.” 

“Wonderful!” Dr. Cheadle says brightly. “Well. As your first assignment, could you visit the hematology lab at the hospital to pick up some blood work and deliver it to my lab tonight? It would be good for you to meet the lab techs there anyways. If you’re friendly with them, it will make your clinical rotations much easier in a few years.”

“Sure. Will do,” Leorio nods, setting a reminder on his phone. “Thanks so much!” 

“My pleasure,” Dr. Cheadle calls as she walks away. “I’ll send you an email with more details this afternoon. Happy to have you aboard!” 

* * *

Leorio can’t suppress a small bubble of pride as he drives to the hospital after his afternoon class ends. Dr. Cheadle is notoriously tough, and the fact that she’s singled him out as a good student is encouraging. Although he constantly studies long hours and never misses a class, he sometimes feels like an imposter waiting to be caught. Everyone else here seemed to come from wealthy, happy, normal families, and their resumes were full of unpaid internships at fancy institutions. Except for Zepile occasionally loaning Leorio some dough, he’s been supporting himself financially since age 16; unpaid jobs were out of the question. Dr. Cheadle taking notice of him based solely on the strength of his classwork must mean that his work is paying off. He whistles cheerfully as he parks in the hospital deck and walks into the gleaming lobby. Seeing the doctors rush around in their white coats gives him a thrill of excitement. 

This is his first visit to this hospital, and he’s been looking forward to seeing the place and meeting some of the staff. He’ll be spending most of his third and fourth years of medical school here when he does his clinical rotations. Confidently, he walks up to the receptionist and tells her that he’s here on behalf of Dr. Cheadle, and asks for directions to the hematology lab. 

He hasn’t been in a hospital since the day Pietro died, he realizes. It was remarkable how every hospital (regardless of how elite or crappy it was) basically felt the same. They all had the same outdated teal green tile and intense disinfectant smell. 

Something strange happens as he rides the elevator up to the third floor. He starts to feel dizzy and nauseous, and he notices that his hands are trembling slightly. Did he forget to eat lunch today? No, he definitely ate a sandwich. Was he getting sick? He leans his forehead against the cool metal of the elevator wall and breathes deeply, trying to steady himself. 

As he walks down the hallway to the lab, he suddenly feels so queasy that he has to duck behind a potted plant and rest his hands on his knees for a moment, afraid that he might throw up. All at once, memories of Pietro are flitting through his mind: Pietro coughing up flecks of blood on the ventilator, Pietro’s frail form in the hospital bed, the feeling of Pietro’s bony hand through the blankets, the way his face grew sunken and yellow and no longer looked like him after he died. Leorio’s vision blacks out at the edges, and for a moment all he can see is image after image of Pietro’s body.   
  
He manages to get his breathing under control after several long exhales, but his entire body feels shaky and feverish. Carefully, he straightens up and wipes his sweaty forehead with a sleeve. Once he’s sure he’s not going to pass out, he continues his walk down the hallway. 

The lab techs are friendly and ask polite questions about school, but he can’t concentrate on their words and replies with one-word answers. Once he’s gotten the blood work vials tucked safely inside the refrigerated bag that Cheadle told him to use, he exits the hospital and returns to the parking deck as quickly as his legs will carry him. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until halfway through his drive home. In fact, he’s crying so hard that he can barely grip the steering wheel. He pulls into the parking lot of a CVS and leans his head against the wheel, shoulders shaking with sobs. 

* * *

The episode at the hospital leaves Leorio feeling drained and under the weather for days. He knows he shouldn’t push it under the rug, but between classwork, studying, and helping Dr. Cheadle with her research, he has no time to process anything. He’s starting to understand how Kurapika ended up the way he was. When you were extremely focused on a goal, it was very difficult to hit pause for any reason.   
  
By November the beautiful autumn colors on the mountains have turned to brown, and the weather is drizzly and cold most days. Leorio is spending so much time outlining and studying for his final exams that the dreary atmosphere doesn’t bother him. Actually, it helps him focus. 

Outside of school, his only routine social interaction is stopping into Bisky’s martial arts studio every now and then. It’s located on the third floor of an old brick building downtown, and whenever she’s not teaching she invites Leorio in for a cup of coffee, often accompanied by a splash of whiskey. From watching her teach through the window, Leorio has gathered that she could beat the absolute shit out of anyone and everyone if need be. 

In spite of this, she’s companionable and warm, and he enjoys their chats greatly. She talks about her nephew Knuckle and coffee shop gossip, and Leorio finds himself talking about Gon and Kurapika and Zepile with her. He likes her flinty laugh and down-to-earth sensibility. 

* * *

Leorio isn’t expecting to do much besides studying over Thanksgiving break, but to his surprise he’s invited to a Thanksgiving dinner at Dr. Cheadle’s house along with about a dozen other stray students. She lives in a stately brick house in the historic neighborhoods north of town. He rings the doorbell and admires the beautifully landscaped garden while he waits.   
  
“Welcome, welcome!” Dr. Cheadle says happily, ushering him inside. “Here, let me take your coat. So glad you could come.” 

The interior of her house is warm and inviting. It’s decorated in tasteful earth tones, and she has several expensive-looking Chinese paintings and tapestries hanging on her walls. Soft orchestral music plays on a sound system, and a fire crackles in her stone fireplace. Clearly, she was making good money.

The dinner is more fun than Leorio expects it to be. He’s always a bit nervous in group settings with the other students, worried that he’ll say something that betrays him as an outsider, but everyone is chatty and genial as they mill around Cheadle’s living room and nibble on bowls of spiced nuts and cheese plates. It helps that everyone is drinking red wine. Leorio has two glasses himself. It’s the most he’s drank all semester, and it goes right to his head. 

By the time the food comes out, he’s seated next to Cheadle. 

“This is great,” he says enthusiastically, gesturing at the plates of roasted duck and mint orzo. “I don’t really like traditional Thanksgiving food anyways. You’re a great cook!” 

Cheadle laughs.

“I’m glad you like it! I didn’t cook any of this, though. I can’t fry an egg. I had this catered, but don’t tell.” 

“Ah!” Leorio nods, spooning some crispy kale leaves onto his plate. “Your secret is safe with me. Thanks again for having all of us.” 

“My pleasure. This is something of a yearly tradition for me. Is your family far away?” Cheadle asks as the other students launch into a spirited discussion of suturing techniques. “I know travel is expensive this time of year.” 

“Um,” Leorio begins, taking a long swig of wine, “no. It’s mostly just me. I was raised by my grandmother in New York, and she died a long time ago. It’s fine.” 

He’s surprised by his answer. Usually he doesn’t talk about that, but the wine must be loosening his tongue. Cheadle’s brow furrows with concern. He keeps talking to spare her the awkwardness of apologizing. 

“Actually,” he continues with a note of pride, “my godson is coming to visit over Christmas. So that’ll be nice. Gon. He’s 12.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Cheadle exclaims, looking relieved. “That’s a very fun age.” 

The other students’ conversation has turned to final exams, and Cheadle gasps in mock outrage as she stands to clear the table. 

“No, no! Don’t talk about exams tonight! You have to give yourself a break now and then,” she cries, bringing out a pot of hot coffee. “Ixnay on the school talk.” 

Another half hour passes in pleasant conversation about non-school-related topics. As the chatter winds down and students start to get their coats and leave, Cheadle leans across the table and lowers her voice conspiratorially. 

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Could you make a trip to DC for me in the spring? There’s a collection at the Smithsonian I’ve been meaning to document for the book, but I just don’t think I can leave school for long enough until the semester is over. What do you think? I’ll cover your expenses.” 

“Sure. What’s the collection?” Leorio asks, intrigued. He’s never been to DC before. “How far of a drive is that?”

“You can take the train. It’s a collection they haven’t put on display yet. Mostly fetal abnormalities, but the specimen I’m most interested in is a pair of Kurtan eyes. Have you ever come across those in your research?”

Leorio’s stomach does a backflip, and a cold sweat prickles on his forehead. He stares at the table for a minute, searching for what to say. 

_Do I tell the truth…?_

As he opens his mouth to reply, someone comes up behind Cheadle to bid her goodbye, and she stands to follow the departing students to the door. Leorio sits frozen at the table as they leave, clutching his coffee cup. 

* * *

It isn’t that he wouldn’t trust Cheadle to understand, Leorio thinks later as he’s driving home. He knows her well enough by now to believe that she would be empathetic to the fact that the last living Kurta wanted the eyes of his family back. But he has no idea if revealing this would endanger Kurapika. It’s something he’ll have to wait to discuss with him the next time they talked or saw each other, and there was no telling when that might be. 

Besides, Leorio already has a pair of Kurtan eyes in his closet. Did it make sense for him to go all the way to DC to look at another when he could tell Cheadle everything she needed to know without leaving his house? When he stops at a red light, he drums his fingers on his steering wheel and chews his lip, thinking hard. This was getting complicated. 

_But,_ says an unbidden voice in his mind _, if you go to the museum, you could help Kurapika get them back. What if he doesn’t know they’re there?_

He scoffs and shakes his head at the idea. What could he even do? Steal them? 

He’s lost in thought for another minute until he’s startled back to reality by a loud honk from the car behind him. The light must have been green for a while. He gives his head another shake to clear it and accelerates quickly. 

* * *

A week before finals, Leorio gives himself a break from cramming and walks downtown to do some Christmas shopping. The town square is decorated festively, with twinkling lights and pine garlands adorning the storefronts. It hasn’t snowed yet this winter, but the cloudy sky is an opaque pearly-grey in the way that often precedes a blizzard. He shivers and pulls his wool coat more tightly around himself as he walks down the street.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s been dreading Christmas. For the past ten years, he spent the holiday with Pietro’s aunts and uncles in the Bronx. They always cooked a big spread of pernil asado and pasteles de masa, with sickly sweet arroz con dulce and tembleque for dessert. Although Pietro was too sick from chemo the last few years to eat much, he and Leorio still got drunk off of sugary rum and played dozens of rounds of Brisca with the old men, clustered around the rickety card tables jammed into the apartment’s tiny kitchen. 

It feels like something he watched in a movie now. So much of his life in the city seems like it happened to someone else. 

In spite of himself, he enjoys searching through bookstores and chocolate shops for gifts for his friends. He buys a pair of birdwatching binoculars for Gon, and gets some books and chocolates for the other people on his list. 

The sky is starting to grow dark, and he’s ready to drink something hot and walk home. As he’s walking towards a cafe to buy an espresso, he passes a jewelry store. A glitter of red catches his eye, and he pauses. 

A pair of sparkling ruby earrings sits on top of a black velvet cushion in the window. He hesitates, trying to estimate how expensive they are, but after another moment of deliberation he opens the door with a jingle and walks inside. 

“Hi there! Can I help you?” asks an elegant red-headed woman. She’s wearing a sparkling emerald necklace that matches her green eyes. “Were you interested in the ruby earrings?” 

“Um, I think so,” Leorio says cautiously, rubbing the back of his head. “Er, can I ask the price?” 

The woman smiles. 

“Take a look at them first! They’re gorgeous up close.”

She unlocks the glass display case and retrieves the earrings for Leorio to see. They’re even prettier up close. Each gem is encased in delicate gold wiring, and it’s clear that they were expertly made. Leorio imagines them shimmering through Kurapika’s silky hair and swallows hard. 

“They’re actually from an estate sale. One of the historic Roanoke families. They have a faint color defect on the back here,” the woman says, pointing to a tiny fleck of darker red on one of the jewels, “so I can give you a reduced price. $250 for the pair.” 

She waits patiently as Leorio gazes down at them. It’s a lot of money, but it isn’t as much as he’d guessed. He could eat rice and beans for the next two weeks. 

“Well…” he begins, pulling out his wallet, “I do like them, but now that I’m seeing that defect I’m wondering if maybe it takes away from the effect. Hmm. Would you do $175?” 

The woman blinks, taken aback. 

“Oh. Um. We don’t usually negotiate our prices...”

“Ah, I understand,” Leorio says kindly, putting his wallet back into his pocket and turning to go. “Thanks anyways!” 

“But I’m sure we could figure out a price that works for both of us,” the woman continues hurriedly, taking a step towards Leorio. “How’s $225? And an insurance policy for six months after purchase.” 

“Hmm,” Leorio says, pretending to think it over. “How about $200, and twelve months of insurance?” 

“Certainly. We can make that work. If you’ll step over here, I can swipe your card,” she says politely, gesturing towards the cash register. If she's annoyed by his bartering, she hides it well. 

Ten minutes later he leaves the store with the earrings tucked safely into a small velvet box under his arm, aglow with his success. As he begins the cold walk home, he entertains himself by imagining Kurapika’s reaction to the gift. He hopes it isn’t too weird. Kurapika made him do strange things. 

* * *

Somehow Leorio scrapes his way through his finals without any major catastrophes. When he finishes his last anatomy exam, he drives home and immediately gets into bed, even though it’s only 3 in the afternoon. He’s been staying up until 2 am every night for the last two weeks to cram, and he’s utterly exhausted. 

He’s awoken by the doorbell hours later. Cotton-mouthed and disoriented, he blinks around his dark bedroom, unsure if it’s evening twilight or very early morning. He staggers to the door to see a FedEx driver standing at his doorstep with a small package and a clipboard.   
  
“Sorry about that. What time is it, anyways?”

“Bout 6:30,” answers the grizzled delivery man. “You work nights or something? Sorry to wake you up. Sign here.” 

Leorio grabs the clipboard and scrawls his name before taking the small package out of the guy’s hands. There’s no return address. 

“Do you know who this is from?” he asks, flipping it over. It’s very light. “Does it say on your end?”  
  
The guy bites his lip and flips through the clipboard, frowning. 

“Nope, don’t see anything. Not sure how that happened. You can take it back to the shipping center if you don’t want it.” 

“Huh. Well, thanks anyways,” Leorio says, waving as the delivery man walks back to his truck and drives away in a cloud of dust. 

He takes the package inside at once and carefully cuts away the packing tape. He reaches inside the almost empty box to pull out a small square of embroidered fabric, and a handwritten note. 

_Dear Leorio, I have included a piece of traditional Kurtan embroidery for you as a gift. I wanted to express my appreciation for the favor you are doing for me. During my travels recently I came across an artisan who creates works in the style of my brethren, and was impressed with her work. Perhaps you could use it as a holiday decoration._

There’s no name at the end of the message. Leorio presses the square of fabric to his chest, feeling his throat tighten momentarily. 

“I guess this means I should get a tree,” he announces to the empty apartment. Come to think of it, Gon would probably be disappointed if his apartment wasn’t decorated. Kids really cared about that kind of stuff. 

After chugging a cup of leftover cold coffee, Leorio hops into his car and drives around until he finds a Christmas tree lot. After picking out the cheapest tree (discounted due to a couple of lopsided branches), he stops at a nearby drugstore to buy some string lights and colorful ornaments. 

The tree’s citrusy pine scent permeates every room of his apartment when he brings it inside. After he screws the tree into its wobbly stand and positions it in the corner of his living room, he spends another hour tacking the string lights to the walls and hanging the ornaments. 

As a finishing touch, he takes the square of embroidery and places it tenderly near the bottom of the tree, where he can see it from his desk in the corner. Satisfied, he straightens up and puts his hands on his hips, surveying the overall effect. He’s impressed by how cozy the place feels. 

Somehow it makes him feel lonely, and anxious for Gon to arrive. Now that he has no studying to do, he isn’t sure what to do with himself. After standing around and admiring the decorations for another twenty minutes, he turns off all the lights and goes to bed, even though it’s only 8 pm. 


	4. worn the faces from all my cards

Gon’s Amtrak train is supposed to arrive at 5 pm on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, so Leorio drives to the station at 4:30 to wait for him. The afternoon sky has already grown dark, and a light snow is falling. He pulls into a parking spot and turns the heat up high, rubbing his cold hands together. He hears the train before he can see it. His pulse quickens in excitement. The last time he saw Gon was in July. As it pulls into the station, he scans the crowd of disembarking passengers for Gon’s spiky hair. 

Five minutes of waiting turns to twenty, and there’s still no sign of him. Frowning, Leorio steps out of the car to look around the station, but the crowd of passengers has dispersed without a sign of the kid. He pulls out his phone and calls Gon, still scanning the parking lot. 

“Hi!” Gon answers at once, sounding out of breath. “Wow, I’m hungry! Have you had dinner yet?”

“Where are you? I don’t see you,” Leorio says, getting back into the car and cranking the heat up higher. “Are you waiting inside?” 

“What? No! I’m already at your house,” Gon replies cheerfully. “Just got here. Where are you?” 

“What? I didn’t even give you my—I’m waiting here for you, dummy! How did you even find my house?” 

“Your cologne is really strong. I could smell it from the station. Anyways, hurry up! I’m starving.” 

Leorio hangs up, shaking his head and laughing. 

* * *

The snow is falling fast when Leorio pulls into his driveway a few minutes later. The puffy flakes are beginning to stick, turning the dark mountains to a frosted silver in the twilight. 

“Leorio! Hi!” Gon yells, running straight into him as soon as he steps out of the car. Feathery snowflakes stick to his eyelashes and eyebrows. 

“Oof! Hi!” Leorio replies, hugging Gon back and ruffling his hair. “Geez, kid. You grew!” 

Gon beams back at him. He’s a good three inches taller than the last time they were together, and he looks stronger and more grown up in a way that makes Leorio feel old. 

“Yeah! Me and Killua have been working out a lot. You have to meet him soon! He’s so cool!” 

Leorio unlocks the front door and leads Gon inside, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his hastily assembled Christmas decor. He did his best to make the place feel festive, but the cheap string lights and off-kilter tree might be disappointing for a kid.   
  
“Wow!” Gon says at once, walking around the house with a big smile. “This looks great! This is way better than your last apartment, huh?” 

“No kidding,” Leorio laughs. “You hungry? Should we order a pizza?” 

“Maybe two pizzas,” Gon says, crouching down to inspect the ornaments on Leorio’s small tree. His eyes alight on the patch of Kurtan embroidery nestled in the branches. 

“What’s this one?” he asks, lightly tracing the fabric. “It’s really pretty.” 

“Oh, that’s a gift from my friend Kurapika,” Leorio replies as he digs out a crumpled take-out pizza menu from his kitchen junk drawer. “I told you about him a few times. What should we get? Pepperoni? Olives? Anchovies?” 

Gon nods enthusiastically, straightening up. 

“Oh yeah! Killua knows him too!” 

“So I’ve heard. I hope you can meet him too. You guys would get along really well. What kind of pizza, huh?” 

“Why are you blushing?” Gon asks, wide-eyed. “I like all of those toppings. Why is your face so red? Are you all right?” 

Leorio hadn’t even realized that his cheeks were flushing. Was it that obvious? He feigns nonchalance and quickly picks up the phone to order pizza. 

“What? I’m fine. Just cold! It’s cold out. Yes, hello—uh, we’re gonna do a large pepperoni and olive, and a large anchovy and sausage. Yep. Thanks.” 

* * *

Later they’re drowsing on the couch, full of pizza and watching the snow accumulate outside. The lights are all turned off except the string lights, and the room is suffused in a warm glow. 

“I saw Ging,” Gon says through a yawn. “At the museum. Last month.”

Leorio raises his eyebrows.   
  
“Yeah? Did you guys talk?” 

“Mm,” Gon shrugs, looking out the window. “I followed him through the Egypt wing for a while but he pretended he didn’t see me. But then Killua followed him home later and said he’s living in a studio in Williamsburg with a bunch of lizards and tarantulas and stuff. I wanted to go up and knock on the door but Killua said we should just go, so we left.” 

Gon’s tone is neutral, but Leorio detects the note of hurt beneath the surface. He waits to reply, wondering if Gon wants to talk about it more. After a minute, Gon sighs and continues. 

“I just...don’t get why he won’t talk to me. I want...” 

Gon trails off, his voice growing brittle. Leorio’s chest grows tight with emotion for him. He reaches over to pat his sock-covered foot.

“Listen, man. Ging is the only one missing out. You know that, right? He’s an idiot,” he says firmly, giving Gon’s foot a shake. “He’s a selfish asshole. Me, Senritsu, Mito, Killua, we all see it. You know that it has nothing to do with you, right? Absolutely nothing.” 

Gon says nothing in reply, his dark eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Leorio sits with him for another moment before standing up with a theatrical groan.

“It’s late, kiddo. You should get some sleep. Let’s figure out how to turn this thing into a bed,” he says, leaning down to search for the latch on the pull-out couch. “I know it’s around here somewhere…”

“I’m fine like this,” Gon says, burrowing deeper into the couch. “Don’t worry.”

Leorio hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Are you sure? Because it turns into a mattress. It only takes a sec. You’ll be more comfy.”

“No thanks,” Gon says stubbornly. “This is fine.” 

“Well, if you say so,” Leorio says, walking towards the hall closet. “Lemme give you some blankets and pillows, okay?” 

Gon nods, turning his face into the couch cushions. 

After giving Gon two quilts and a soft pillow, Leorio bids him goodnight and retreats into his own bedroom to finish wrapping a few presents. His wrapping skills leave something to be desired, but it’s still fun. He never used to be able to afford presents for anyone, but this year he has a gift or two each for Gon, Senritsu, Zepile, Bisky, and Mito. He also sent coffee shop gift cards to his professors. It never hurt to suck up.

He’s getting sleepy, but he enjoys carefully wrapping the presents and imagining the reactions of the recipients. As he finishes curling a ribbon on one of Senritsu’s gifts (an illustrated guide to South American wind instruments) his gaze alights on the last unwrapped present in the pile. 

Opening the small velvet box, he gazes down at the glittering red earrings on their bed of white satin and feels suddenly foolish. He has no idea when he’ll see Kurapika, and perhaps jewelry was too forward. Frowning, he shuts the box and stands up to jam it deep inside his sock drawer.

As the fluffy snow piles up on his windowsill, he turns off the lights and gets in bed, wondering where Kurapika is spending his Christmas Eve. He hopes that he’s at least safe and warm. 

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, and when he does, he dreams of following Kurapika through a busy street market. Over and over he hurries to catch up to Kurapika’s blond head as it bobs in front of him in a crowd of people, and every time he’s near enough to reach out and grab the back of Kurapika’s shirt, he loses him in the throng again. 

* * *

At 5:17 am, Leorio wakes up to a crash. He bolts upright in bed, heart pounding furiously. Staring wide-eyed through the darkness in his room, he tries to determine the source of the noise. When he hears the clatter of breaking glass coming from the living room, he leaps out of bed and grabs Pietro’s old baseball bat from the closet as a makeshift weapon. 

“Gon?” he yells, edging out of the bedroom with the bat held out in front of him. “Gon, are you all right?!” 

There’s another loud thud from the kitchen, followed by the sound of Gon’s irritated voice. 

“I would’ve let you in! You didn’t have to break the window! I was just sleeping! I was fine the whole — oh, Leorio!”

Shaking with adrenaline, Leorio flips on the kitchen lights to see Gon standing next to a boy with shockingly silver hair and vivid blue eyes. He looks to be about Gon’s age, but the electric intensity in his eyes makes Leorio shiver. A cut on his knuckle is bleeding onto the floor.

“Um, Gon, I take it this is Killua?” Leorio says weakly, lowering the baseball bat. “Killua, I have several questions for you, but let’s start with bandaging up that hand. Did you break my window?”

Killua looks away, kicking at something invisible in the ground. 

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sorry about that. Gon wasn’t picking up the phone so I was worried something happened to him. I’ll get your window fixed. My family is too rich anyways.”

“I’m really sorry, Leorio,” Gon says imploringly, looking close to tears. “I didn’t know Killua was going to break into your house. I just forgot to charge my phone again.” 

It was true that Gon was notoriously forgetful when it came to charging his cheap cell phone. Mito purchased it for him last year, tired of constantly losing track of Gon on his nature explorations, but more often than not the phone sat dead in Gon’s bedroom. 

“Geez. Well then. Killua, I’m gonna need to talk to your family after I patch you up. You can’t just be hanging out here on Christmas. How the hell did you get here? I’m gonna get arrested for kidnapping.”

“Nah, it’s fine. They don’t care,” Killua says with a rueful smirk. “Don’t worry. You can call them, but they don’t care where I am.” 

“Well, I doubt that,” Leorio retorts as he gets the first aid kit from the bathroom, “but give me their number anyways.” 

As Leorio walks away, he watches Gon give Killua an awkward pat on the head. 

“I’m glad Killua is here! Even if you only came because you thought I died!” Gon grins, ruffling Killua’s hair. “We can hang out and walk around in the snow!” 

“Whatever. It’s not a big deal. I just thought maybe something weird happened with Ging, that’s all,” Killua mumbles, ducking away from Gon’s hand and looking at the floor. “Sorry about the window.” 

* * *

After bandaging Killua’s hand and taping cardboard over the broken window, Leorio steps out onto the snowy porch to call Killua’s father. The sky is beginning to lighten at the horizon, and the world is coated in a layer of powdery snow and glittering ice. The tree branches look like they’ve been turned to transparent glass. Leorio’s breath fogs in front of him as he stamps his feet to keep warm. He’s only wearing his ratty bathrobe, and the frigid air stings his skin. After twelve rings, someone finally picks up. 

“Silva speaking,” answers a deep voice. 

Leorio gulps. “Oh. Hello. Is this...Mr. Zoldyck?” 

“Yes, it is. How did you get this number?” 

“Well, er...your son Killua is here with me. My name is Leorio Paladiknight. Killua knows my godson Gon Freecs, and came to visit him here with me. I’m in Roanoke, Virginia.” 

There’s a long pause on the other end. Even in the cold, Leorio starts to sweat. 

“If he’s run away from home,” he continues, “then of course we can get the authorities involved, and make sure that he gets home safely. But he seemed to think that he had permission, so — ”

“Let him stay,” Silva interrupts. “He’ll come back when he wants to.” 

“Are you sure? Does his mother know where he is?” 

“His mother?” Silva asks with a low rumbling laugh. “His mother is the one who wanted him gone. He’ll be fine. Let him do what he wants. I’m aware of his friendship with Ging’s son. They can take care of themselves.” 

_They’re only twelve years old_ , Leorio thinks but does not say. 

“Well, as long as it’s kosher with you and his mother, then I guess he can stay,” he says instead, and Silva hangs up without another word.

“Merry Christmas to you too, asshole,” Leorio says aloud to the snowy porch, his teeth chattering from the cold. 

* * *

Gon and Killua run outside to play, and Leorio pulls on a sweater and a pair of jeans, hurriedly brushes his teeth and splashes icy tap water on his face, and sets about cooking a greasy breakfast of hash browns and bacon. He makes himself an extra-strong pot of espresso and drinks two cups right away. 

After half an hour the boys tumble back inside, red-faced and laughing and dripping with slush. The metallic smell of snow clings to their clothes and hair. Gon is markedly happier around Killua, and Killua seems embarrassed enough by his dramatic entrance that he’s quiet and helpful, even offering to clumsily set the table once the food is ready. The three of them eat in contented silence for a while until Leorio remembers the presents sitting in his bedroom. 

“One sec,” he says through a mouthful of hash browns, wiping his face with a napkin and jumping to his feet. “Be right back.” 

As the boys chatter animatedly, he hurries into his bedroom and shuts the door, trying to brainstorm what to give Killua. It would be mean to give Gon his present without giving Killua one. He decides that he can buy Zepile something else later and give that present to Killua instead. It’s a box of fancy chocolate from a local bakery, which seems like a safe bet for a kid. 

He grabs Gon’s present and rejoins the breakfast table, handing each boy a wrapped gift. Gon looks thrilled, but Killua warily accepts the box, turning it over and shaking it. 

“Well, it’s Christmas, after all,” Leorio says gruffly. “You know what to do. Have at it.” 

“Thanks, Leorio!” Gon says, ripping open his package to reveal the birdwatching binoculars. “Awesome!” 

Killua opens his chocolates and stares at them reverently. 

“This is...for me? Are you sure?” 

Leorio pretends to cough, embarrassed. 

“Ah, it’s nothing.” 

“What? No way, man! This is top-grade stuff!” Killua says, enraptured. He picks up a truffle and holds it close to his face. “Are you kidding? Can I really have this?” 

“All yours. But maybe don’t eat them all in one go. It’s expensive.” 

“Mmmf,” Killua agrees, his mouth already full of truffle. “Hey, Gon, try one.” 

“Wow, Leorio, how did you know?” Gon asks, shoving a chocolate star into his mouth. “Killua is obsessed with chocolate. I think it’s an actual addiction.” 

“It is not!” Killua cries, shoving Gon’s shoulder, causing him to cough and spit up a mouthful of chocolate onto the table. Both boys erupt into laughter. Leorio returns to the kitchen for a third cup of espresso.   


* * *

Two days after Christmas, Bisky drops by to exchange presents with Leorio. As the two adults stand in the living room with cups of coffee, Killua and Gon practice their latest acrobatic routine in the snowy yard. It involves a lot of backflips and yelling. As Leorio opens his mouth to apologize for their noise, Bisky turns to watch in amazement. 

“My goodness! Have they been professionally trained?” 

“Erm, not that I know of,” Leorio replies, scratching his head. “They’re both crazy athletic kids, though.” 

“Well, have them come by the studio!” Bisky says. “Drop them by whenever you need a break. No payment needed. There is incredible potential in both of them!” 

They sip their coffees and watch as Gon catapults five feet into the air and lands in Killua’s arms. Both boys collapse in a heap, laughing and rolling around in the snow like puppies. 

“With some discipline and refinement of technique, these boys could be the most talented fighters I’ve ever had in my studio,” Bisky says, turning to go. “Jewels in the rough! Do you mind if I invite them?” 

Leorio nods. “I think that would be great for them. They have so much goddamn energy. Maybe this will wear them out before one of them breaks a window again,” he says, craning his head towards the broken glass. 

“I”ll set them straight in no time,” Bisky says happily. “Well, merry Christmas, Leorio! You take care, dear. I’ll go have a chat with the boys now.” 

She strides into the snowy yard to talk to Gon and Killua, her pigtails bouncing with every step. 

* * *

“What do you think?” Leorio asks Gon later that afternoon when the boys come inside to raid the fridge. “Do you guys want to take martial arts lessons?”

Gon nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Definitely. Killua is kind of weird about it because she’s a girl, but I think it would be awesome!” 

“Am not,” Killua calls from the other room. “But I’ve already done a lot of that kind of stuff with my family. I dunno.” 

“Yeah, but she’s way nicer than your brother and them! It’ll be fun. Can we go?” Gon pleads. “She’s really cool!” 

“Works for me,” Leorio says, writing down Bisky’s phone number on a piece of paper to hand to Gon. “Here, you can go ahead and figure out a time that you wanna go. Just let me know and I’ll drive you into town.” 

“We can walk!” Gon says brightly, pocketing the phone number. “No problem! Thanks, Leorio!” 

* * *

Later that night, Leorio wakes up around 3 am to pee. As he’s stumbling back from the bathroom in the dark, he hears the sound of muffled sobbing coming from the living room. He pauses to listen, but as he tries to walk silently down the hallway he steps on a creaky floorboard. The sobbing abruptly ceases. 

Perturbed, he waits for another few minutes, wondering whether he should go investigate, but after another moment he decides to go back to bed and figure it out in the morning. 

* * *

Both Gon and Killua seem cheerful over breakfast the next day, however, and Leorio is unsure how to broach the question.

“Everything okay with your folks?” Leorio asks Killua offhandedly, passing him a plate of fried eggs. “You don’t want to go home yet?”

“Huh? No, I’d rather stay,” Killua says through a mouthful of toast. “Is it still okay? I can leave if I’m in the way.” 

“No, no, you’re fine,” Leorio replies quickly, seeing Gon’s face grow worried. “Just making sure. Hand me the butter?” 

Once they’ve finished eating, Leorio ducks into the kitchen with the dirty plates. 

“Gon, gimme a hand with these, will you?”

“Yep!” Gon chirps, standing up to follow him towards the sink.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” Leorio instructs. He squirts a dollop of dish soap onto the egg-coated pan and starts to scrub before continuing. “Um, Gon…”

“Hmm?” Gon asks, fidgeting with a magnet on the fridge. “What is it?” 

Leorio hesitates, rinsing the pan underneath the hot water and splashing his shirt. 

“Is, uh, is everything okay between you guys? You didn’t get in a fight or anything?” He hands Gon a wet plate. “Dry this. Is there anything going on?”

Gon shakes his head, wiping the plate dry and setting it aside. 

“With me and Killua? No! It’s so fun having him here.” 

“Well, I know you guys get along great, but I just wondered if maybe something had happened yesterday. I got up to pee last night and heard, um…” 

He trails off, not wanting to embarrass Gon, who shakes his head firmly again. 

“Nope! Is it okay if we walk to the studio today? I want to show Killua the star!” 

“Oh,” Leorio replies, drying his hands and turning to face Gon, “yeah, I guess that’s okay. Don’t freeze to death, please.” 

Gon scuttles away before Leorio can get another word in. About thirty seconds later, he hears both boys yell their goodbyes and stampede out of the door. Puzzled, he stays rooted in place for another minute, chewing on a thumbnail and frowning. 

* * *

The next three days fall into a peaceful rhythm. Although Leorio has two weeks of winter break left, he has a lot of studying to do before school starts again. Every morning he wakes up early to cook something calorically dense for the kids before driving them into town to drop them off at Bisky’s studio. When he gets home, he makes a big pot of espresso and studies for a couple of hours. He relishes the quiet of the apartment after the chaos of the boys. By nightfall Gon and Killua are happily exhausted, and Leorio feeds them piles of spaghetti and talks with them about their days until they collapse into bed. Once they’re asleep, Leorio studies until he’s too tired to think. 

On the third night after Christmas, he takes a long walk through the snowy neighborhood. The stars are crystal-clear in the crisp night air. His footsteps crunch through the brittle top layer of snow, sinking into the softer powder underneath. 

He had been dreading the first holiday without Pietro. Somehow, though, this odd situation is better than anything he could have hoped for during this grim first anniversary. Gon and Killua are so vivid and energetic that Leorio can’t help but feel more alive around them. 

He imagines Pietro hanging out with the kids, teasing them and playing with them. His eyes fill with hot tears. They would have gotten along so well. Pietro wanted a family, talked about it all the time, wanted a bunch of kids who would tag along with him and love him and look up to him. The fact that he never got to have that is agonizing. Leorio takes off his fogged-up glasses and wipes his eyes, exhaling a long sigh. 


	5. gonna take it with me when I go

New Year’s Eve dawns bright and frozen. An overnight cold front has turned the roads to dangerous black ice and coated the trees with spiky frost. Much to the boys’ chagrin, Leorio refuses to drive them to Bisky’s, and forbids them from walking into town. 

“It’s too risky, guys. Sorry. Even if you walk, people are sliding all over the roads,” Leorio explains. “Besides, you must be running Bisky ragged. Give her a day off, too.” 

“She loves it,” Gon declares. “We offered to take a day off too and she said that only quitters take the day off.” 

“Well, just tell her I’m making an executive decision, then,” Leorio says firmly. “Too icy. Come on, we can play board games or something!” 

From his perch on the arm of the living room couch, Killua gives him a withering stare. 

“Board games?” 

“Oh, be nice, Killua,” Gon huffs. “It’s okay. Let’s go do push-ups until someone barfs.” 

Before Leorio can stop them, both boys have disappeared outside. Shrugging, he walks back into his bedroom to study. 

The moment he turns on his desk light, its lightbulb burns out with a sizzle.

“Shit,” he grumbles, rummaging through his desk drawer for a replacement bulb. There’s a whiff of mercury in the air. “I swear I just replaced you.”   
  
For some reason, everything electrical in the house has been acting haywire for the past week. The microwave burns food after ten seconds, lights flicker on and off at sporadic times, and his barely-used blender shorted out yesterday while Killua was making milkshakes. Leorio will have to tell his landlord about it soon. 

Once he’s finished screwing in the replacement bulb, he tosses the dud into his trash can and tries to focus on his biology textbook. He’s having a hard time concentrating today. He can hear Gon and Killua’s faint cries from the front yard, and his thoughts keep straying to the earrings stashed in his sock drawer. 

After another fruitless twenty minutes of staring at the page and re-reading the same sentence over and over, Leorio gives up and decides to make another cup of coffee. He watches the boys jumping around in the snow outside through the window while he waits for the water to boil. They seem so carefree, but he still hasn’t figured out the source of those sobs the other night. 

It occurs to him that he has no idea what to do with two twelve year olds on a holiday like this. When he lived in New York, he generally spent New Year’s Eve going from apartment to apartment, squeezing into tiny balconies to get drunk off of cheap champagne and watch the fireworks from a distance. Taking the subway home in the early hours of the morning was always entertaining; everyone stumbling through the train station drunk, their sequined party clothes catching on the turnstiles. What did people do in the suburbs? 

“So!” Leorio says brightly when Gon and Killua trample back inside, scattering clumps of gritty snow all over the kitchen floor. “It’s New Year’s Eve! What do you guys wanna do? We could walk somewhere to see the fireworks, I guess, or we could stay here and watch the ball drop on TV, or, uh…” 

“My family used to always do their own fireworks from their mountain,” Killua shrugs, “so I’m fine with whatever Gon wants to do. It doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Mito just always makes me go to bed early,” Gon says, gulping down a glass of water and pouring one for Killua. Both boys are red-faced from the cold, and Killua’s white hair is sticking straight up. “I dunno. What are you even supposed to do? Whatever Leorio and Killua want is okay!” 

Leorio scratches his head. 

“Well, if it doesn’t matter to you guys, just tell me when you get hungry and I’ll order pizza,” he says. “Maybe the roads will be better by this afternoon and we can go hiking or something.” 

Both boys nod with polite disinterest, clearly anxious to go back to whatever they were doing. 

* * *

Leorio feels restless all afternoon, watching the weak sun sink lower in the sky. To kill time until nightfall, he takes a walk through the snowy neighborhood and calls Zepile to chat, who picks up after half a ring. 

“Hey, man! Long time no talk,” Zepile says, sounding excited. “What’s up!”   
  
“Hey!” Leorio says, stopping to throw rocks into a half-frozen creek. “Just wanted to wish you happy New Year and merry Christmas and all the rest of it. What did you do for the holidays?”

“Eh, not much. I mostly worked,” Zepile laughs. “I’ve been slammed. Although I did get to have dinner with Morel and Wing the day after Christmas at Golden Dragon. We got so much dim sum that they actually cut us off.” 

“Wow. They do that?” Leorio asks, continuing his walk. He’s slipping a little on the icy road, and slows his pace. “Like, just refuse to bring you more food?”

“Yep,” Zepile says proudly. “It was incredible. The bill was $217 and Morel insisted on paying so we let him.” 

They both laugh at that for a moment, and Leorio realizes that he really misses Zepile. 

“So what are you working on that’s taking up so much time?” he presses. “Another Mona Lisa for a casino?”

“Fuck no!” Zepile says in a tone of mock outrage. “That’s far beneath my artistic ability now. No, actually,” he says, pausing to chew something that sounds like broken glass but is probably potato chips, “it’s totally up your alley. It’s for this medical model company. 3B Smart Anatomy. They’re having me sculpt detailed models of organs and limbs for students to practice on. One of their employees saw my fake David sculpture at a casino and got in touch with me. Have you used anything like that yet in school?” 

“Nice! Yeah, we use stuff like that for clinical practice. I don’t get to be around real patients for a bit. That’s cool. So are you making the big bucks?” 

“Not too bad,” Zepile says, a note of pride in his voice. “Better than the fake Mona Lisas, at least, and I actually feel like I’m doing something helpful for the real world. I like it. I made a liver and a heart and a femur this month. And on the side I’ve been making props for zombie movies, too. Amputated arms and stuff.” 

Leorio whistles approvingly as he turns back onto his own street. The sun is starting to set, and the snow looks tinged with blue in the twilight.

“Wow! That’s festive. Hah. Well, good for you, dude. Seriously. That’s great. I can’t wait to practice stitches on a real Zepile spleen model or something.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me, though,” Zepile continues, crunching on the broken glass again. “What’s going on? Tell me about school. You still talking to lover boy? How’s Gon?” 

As Leorio opens his mouth to answer, his phone suddenly goes dead. Frowning, he presses the power button over and over to try to get it to turn back on, but the screen remains resolutely black. 

“Shit!” he curses, shivering and walking up the stairs to his front door. “Sorry, Zep.” 

He hurries inside, stamping his feet on the doormat and shrugging off his coat and scarf, before plugging his phone into his charger in the hallway. All the lights are off in the house; the kids must still be outside playing. He taps his foot on the threadbare carpet, waiting for the phone to blink back to life, but nothing happens. Was the outlet dead, too? 

“Shit!” he spits again. “Piece of crap.” 

“What’s wrong?” Gon calls from the dark kitchen. “Leorio?”

“Oh!” Leorio replies, startled. “I didn’t know you were here. Is the power out?” 

He walks through the shadowy hallway into the kitchen. Killua is perched catlike on the counter, and Gon is rummaging through a drawer. He straightens up when he sees Leorio, an apologetic look on his face. 

“Sorry, Leorio! I don’t know what happened. We came back inside when you were walking and all the lights and everything just went out. Do you have any candles?”

“Uh,” Leorio says, going to look in the hall closet, “maybe, but I dunno. Let’s see.” 

He’s fairly certain he doesn’t have any, but spends five minutes pawing through his junk drawers and linen closets to make sure. He finds nothing, and returns empty-handed to the boys. 

“Damn. Sorry, guys. Things were acting weird earlier with the power. It’s probably ‘cause the ice storm knocked down a power line or something. The heat’s still working, though. Let’s go to the store and buy some candles, and I’ll try to call the landlord.” 

He sounds calmer than he feels as he gathers up his coat and car keys. He isn’t sure if this is something that the landlord will make him pay for out of pocket. 

“Oh, can I borrow one of your phones?” Leorio asks as they clamber into the car. “Mine died.” 

“Weird! Mine too,” Gon chirps from the backseat, and Killua smacks him.

“Yours is always dead, dummy. You don’t charge it. But mine died earlier too and I forgot to charge it before the power went out.” 

“If only my car had one of those car charger things,” Leorio grumbles. “Okay, make sure your seatbelts are extra buckled. The roads are still kinda icy.”

As Gon and Killua chatter in the backseat, Leorio drives the two miles to the nearest drugstore very carefully, watching for slippery patches of black ice. Luckily, the roads are mostly empty. Everyone must already be at their parties. 

Once they reach Walgreens, Leorio fills a basket with hurricane candles and cheap flashlights. Gon and Killua snicker in the greeting card aisle as they find the most embarrassing romantic cards and read them dramatically to one another. The store’s lone employee, a sullen-faced teenage girl wearing a sparkly paper crown that reads HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM WALGREENS, snaps her gum and waits impatiently for them to check out. 

“Oh,” Gon says, coming up behind Leorio as he’s paying, “we should order pizza from a phone here, right? Ours don’t work.” 

“Good thinking,” Leorio says, turning towards the cashier. “Hey, is there a pay phone here?” 

She directs him wordlessly towards a pay phone outside. With Gon and Killua in tow, Leorio walks out of the store and tries to figure out how to use the thing. 

“Um...okay. You just take coins, and...um. Hmm.” 

After a few failed attempts, he gets through to the operator and asks for the number of the local pizza joint. Once he’s successfully ordered, he hangs up, looks around for the boys, and sees them climbing a ten-foot-high pile of plowed snow. They’re taking turns leaping off of the top. 

“Jesus! Stop that,” he cries, waving his arms. “Get down before you break your necks.” 

“We won’t!” Gon reassures him, running across the parking lot and hopping back into the backseat. Killua follows him, panting and wiping snow from his hair. 

When they get back home, all of the lights are blazing in the windows.

“Geez. After we go buy everything, it comes back on!” Leorio gripes. “Oh well. I guess we need that stuff just in case.”

He’s relieved, but as the three of them walk back inside, everything zaps off, leaving the house completely dark and silent. Killua’s hair is standing straight up again. They all stare at each other, mystified. 

“What the hell?” Leorio mutters. He ruffles Killua’s hair, and it clings to his skin with static. “Did you swallow a Taser or something?”

“It’s okay, Killua!” Gon consoles him. “This is kinda fun! It’s like the old days.” 

* * *

They spend the next ten minutes lighting candles all over the house. Leorio decides to put them all in tall glass jars and cups to avoid anything catching on fire. The last thing he needs is for someone to do a backflip and kick a candle over. 

Despite his frustration, he has to admit that the house looks pretty in the candlelight. The ornaments on the Christmas tree are glowing, and the darkness feels cozy. Outside, his neighbors are starting to shoot off fireworks, and multicolored flashes of light zing past the windows every so often. The pleasant smell of burnt matches fills the rooms. 

“Do you have any fireworks?” Gon asks Leorio, padding up beside him in the darkness while he’s lighting more candles in his bedroom. “We should go do some!” 

“No can do, man. Have you ever seen someone’s hand blown all the way off from a firecracker? Not worth it. Leave it to the pros.” 

“I’ve seen it,” Killua says with a shrug, appearing silently at Gon’s side. “Well, not a firecracker,” he amends. “But it’s gross. Gon, you wouldn’t want to see it.” 

“Really? Wait! Do you have pictures?” Gon asks at once, perking up. “That’s so cool!” 

Leorio groans. 

“Killua, don’t even think about it. Gon, no. Trust me, it’s disgusting.” 

As the boys raise their voices in protest, they’re interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. Gon and Leorio both jump slightly, and Killua’s eyes narrow. 

“Did you hear a car pull up?” he asks, glancing out the window. “Huh.”

“Oh. Must be the pizza guy,” Leorio says, pulling out his wallet and handing Killua a $20. “God, I hope he didn’t walk! Here, wanna go get it? I’ll finish the candles.” 

Killua slinks away as Gon and Leorio place a few more candles around the room. The front door opens with a screech, and there’s a moment of confused silence. 

“...Killua?” Leorio calls. “Everything okay?” 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Killua says, sounding stunned. “How did you get here?” 

“Who is it?” Leorio calls again, hurrying towards the door. “Killua?”

He stops short in his tracks when he sees Kurapika standing in the doorway, dressed in a sleek black suit and sporting a spectacular black eye. Killua, holding the door open for him, is open-mouthed in astonishment. Leorio’s heartbeat jumps into his throat. 

“Hi, Killua,” Kurapika says with a tired smile. “It’s nice to see you again. I didn’t know you’d be here. Hello, Leorio. Is this a bad time? I apologize for dropping in.” 

He’s clutching another black duffel bag. Dimly, Leorio registers the smell of burning skin. It takes him a moment to register that his fingers are being singed from the flame of a still-lit match. 

“Fuck!” he snaps, shaking the match out and pressing his raw fingertips to his chest. “Kurapika. You’re...you’re here. Holy shit. What happened to your eye? Here, come on. Come get in out of the cold.” 

Leorio’s mind is racing a million miles a minute, but Kurapika seems oddly calm as he walks inside. He gives Killua a one-armed hug and politely greets Gon, who stares up at him in unabashed wonder. 

“You’re Kurapika!” Gon says breathlessly as they all follow Kurapika into the bedroom. “I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“Only good things, I hope,” Kurapika replies, a twinkle in his eyes. He puts the duffel bag in Leorio’s closet and covers it with a pile of sweaters before straightening up. “I’ve heard about you too, you know.” 

They walk back into the living room. Leorio is at a loss for what to do as Kurapika looks at the ornaments on the tree with Gon on his heels. Killua hangs back and watches the scene, his eyes still narrowed. 

“Oh. The power is out,” Leorio says, gesturing towards the candles and immediately feeling like an idiot. “Um. You can probably tell. But the heat is still on. So.” 

“Ah, I see,” Kurapika nods. “Perhaps the weather is to blame.” 

“Killua zapped it all out!” Gon says happily, pointing to Killua’s hair. “It happened last summer too, and — ”

“Gon,” Killua hisses, “let’s go for a walk.” 

_Thank fucking God_. Leorio could have kissed him. He gives Killua a grateful look as he yanks Gon by the sleeve towards the kitchen. After a moment of scuffling, the back door slams, and Leorio and Kurapika are alone. 

Leorio takes a step towards Kurapika in the darkness, his heart still hammering in his chest. 

“Nice to see you,” he says weakly. “I had no idea you were coming. I could have kicked the kids out if I knew.” 

Kurapika smiles. 

“That’s all right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I tried to call a few times this afternoon, but your line was dead. Is your phone out of commission?” 

“Eh, something’s been going on with everything,” Leorio says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s okay. So are you gonna tell me what happened with the eye?”

“I’ll tell you at some point,” Kurapika says, evasive as ever. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad,” Leorio admits, leaning closer to admire it in the candlelight. A large purplish-green bruise blooms around Kurapika’s left eye, and his eyelid is swollen. Leorio reaches out to probe the tissue, very gently. Kurapika closes his eyes at the touch. 

“Why do you keep gettin’ into trouble, huh?” Leorio murmurs, moving his hand to the side of Kurapika’s neck. “I don’t like seeing you like this.” 

He runs his fingers through Kurapika’s hair, making him shiver. 

“It’s of no consequence. I got what I needed,” Kurapika says quietly. “Are you still all right with having...with storing them here?” 

“Of course. I meant what I said last time,” Leorio says, moving closer. “I just…”

The door opens again, and Gon and Killua begin talking in unnaturally loud voices from the kitchen. Leorio takes a step back from Kurapika, who looks away and tucks his hair behind his ears as the boys return to the living room.

“Are you guys done?” Killua asks, plunking down into his usual spot on the couch’s armrest. “It’s too cold for us to stay outside long. Just tell us before you do anything mushy so we can escape.

“Oh, shut up,” Leorio snaps, but he’s too distracted to put much weight behind it. “We were just talking.” 

Gon is oblivious to their exchange. He runs over to the tree to show Kurapika where Leorio has placed the Kurtan embroidery, and the two quickly strike up a conversation about Kurapika’s travels. Gon launches into a long story about the time he went to Japan as a toddler, and Kurapika listens kindly, occasionally interjecting with a comment. Killua watches the two of them with half-lidded eyes, dipping his fingers into melted candle wax and rolling it around in his palm.   
  
When the real pizza delivery guy finally arrives, apologizing profusely for the delay, Leorio tells him not to worry and tips him an extra $20. The boys eat about ten slices of pizza apiece, and Kurapika nibbles on one piece, delicately wiping his mouth. Leorio is so wound up that he can barely get down half a slice. It takes him forever to chew one bite. 

After they eat and throw away the greasy boxes, Leorio steps out onto the front stoop for a moment to get some air. As his breath fogs in the cold, he checks his watch, and is surprised to see that it’s already 11:39 pm. The year is almost over. 

Last year at this time he hadn’t even met Kurapika yet, and Pietro was still alive. It’s hard to believe. He stares out at the snowy yard for another minute, remembering, before stepping back inside. 

“Hey, it’s almost midnight!” he calls to the other three. “Make a wish, or whatever. Or your resolutions. Right?”

“Mine is to lose to Killua in rock paper scissors,” Gon declares, earning an eye roll from Killua and a laugh from Kurapika. “What’s yours, Leorio?” 

“Oh. Um…” Leorio says, thinking. “I dunno. I never used to make them. Do I have to decide before midnight for it to be kosher?” 

“Nah, I think anytime during the first week of the year is okay,” Killua says. “My grandpa is really into that stuff and always consults a psychic before making any.” 

Leorio catches Kurapika’s eye and chuckles. He feels warm and tingling all over. 

“Hey, actually,” he says, going into the kitchen, “I have a bottle of champagne here somewhere. Senritsu gave it to me before I moved. Where did I put that?”

Kurapika follows him with a flashlight as he hunts around his dark pantry. 

“Aha!” Leorio cries, his hand closing around the bottle in the back of a cluttered cabinet. “Knew you were here somewhere. Kurapika, would you like to do the honors?”

“I suppose I could,” Kurapika replies, taking the bottle and dish towel that Leorio hands him. They open the back door and point the bottle out into the woods as Kurapika works the cork out. As they stand close together in the doorway, Leorio becomes painfully aware of the fact that Kurapika has untied his black silk tie and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his expensive white shirt. He’s wearing a different cologne, too. It’s the same spicy one he wore that day in Tokyo. Leorio gulps and feels his heartbeat move directly to his groin. 

After another moment, the cork pops off, and Kurapika turns back around in triumph. 

“There!” he says in satisfaction, pouring two regular sized servings (in coffee mugs, because Leorio doesn’t own wine glasses) and two kid-sized servings of champagne. They each carry two cups back to the living room and hand the smaller servings to Gon and Killua. 

“Okay, guys, it’s 11:58,” Leorio informs them, staring down at his watch, “so I’ll just...uh...wait until we’re close to count down. Wait, Gon, don’t drink it yet!” he cries as Gon picks up his cup. “Wait until midnight. Okay! Thirty seconds.” 

He looks up at Kurapika, grinning, and Kurapika smiles back before looking down at his champagne, a bit pink around his ears. His hair is shimmering golden in the candlelight.

“Leorio! Count!” Gon cries, and Leorio hurriedly looks back at his watch. 

“Oops! Uh...five...four, three, two, aaaand….one! Happy new year!” 

They all cheer and clink their cups together before draining them. Gon grabs Killua and plants a kiss on his cheek. Horrified, Killua turns bright red and wipes it away with his sleeve immediately. 

“What the hell? What was that?” he howls as Gon beams. 

“It’s for good luck! Mito always does it to me!” 

Leorio tries very hard not to look at Kurapika, who seems suddenly very interested in his empty cup. To have something to do, Leorio returns to the kitchen for the champagne bottle and gives himself a refill. 

“Hey, Leorio,” Gon says when Leorio gets back. “Where is Kurapika going to sleep, anyways? Me and Killua are already on the couches.” 

Leorio pretends not to hear his question as Killua smacks Gon on the leg. 

“Dude. Shut _up.”_

Before long Gon is yawning and leaning against the couches, and Leorio can tell that he’s about to pass out.

“You ready for bed, Gon?” he asks, collecting their empty cups. 

“No, I’m fine,” Gon says through an enormous yawn. “We can stay up!” 

“I’m tired too,” Killua announces, looking wide awake. “Come on, Gon.” 

As Kurapika disappears into the bathroom, Leorio helps Gon and Killua make up their beds on the couches. He hands them each a small flashlight. 

“Keep this with you if you need to pee in the middle of the night,” he instructs. “I don’t want you lighting anything on fire when you’re half asleep.” 

“Mmkay. Night, Leorio,” Gon murmurs, already dozing off. “Happy new year!”

“Is Kurapika going to stick around?” Killua asks as he gets under the blankets. “I want to talk to him tomorrow.” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Leorio answers honestly as he blows out the last candle in the living room. “I hope so. Night, boys. Sleep tight.” 

He walks into the kitchen and sees Kurapika standing outside on the porch. He opens the back door and crunches through the snow to join him, nudging against his side playfully. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello,” Kurapika says, looking up at him. “Are they asleep?”   
  
“Gon is, but I bet Killua will be up for a bit. But Gon sleeps like the dead.” 

“It’s very nice to see them,” Kurapika says, pulling his jacket tightly around himself and shivering. “It’s good to see Killua with a friend. I’ve only ever seen him with his family. Do you know the Zoldycks?”

Leorio shakes his head. 

“I’ve never met any of them in person, but I’m getting the feeling that I won’t like them.” 

“Most likely. You’re wonderful with the boys, you know?” 

“Oh,” Leorio says, caught off-guard, “well. It’s easy. They’re great. It’s great having them here.” He feels himself flush, his face hot in the cold night air. 

“Still. You are uncommonly kind,” Kurapika says softly.

Leorio can’t think of anything to say to that, and falls silent. He steps a few inches closer towards Kurapika until their arms are touching. 

“Look!” Kurapika says after a few minutes, pointing out at the horizon. “Fireworks!” 

“Oh! I like the ones that look like golden sparkles. And the red ones.”

“Me too,” Kurapika agrees, leaning slightly into Leorio’s arm. “You know, I never saw fireworks until I was twelve years old. Gon and Killua’s age.” 

“Really! Did, um...did you not have them in your...group?” 

“No. Most forms of technology were outlawed by our founders. Ah! That was a good one.” 

They pause to watch a sequence of blue and purple fireworks. Leorio is debating slinging an arm around Kurapika’s shoulders, but doesn’t want to startle him away. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind having the eyes here?” Kurapika says after another moment. He turns toward Leorio, his eyes dark and serious. “Truly. I would understand if it’s too uncomfortable.” 

“It’s not,” Leorio answers honestly, trying to search for the right words. “It really doesn’t bother me. I mean...I have Pietro’s ashes in the living room, too. But it doesn’t feel...creepy, or weird to me, or anything like that. I dunno how to explain it. I’m sorry. Is that strange?” 

Kurapika pauses before replying. 

“No,” he says slowly, “no, it’s not. I’m glad you feel that way. I’m grateful that you’re willing to keep them for me during this time.” 

“But…” Leorio prompts, watching his face carefully, “is it hard to come back here because they’re also here?” 

Kurapika nods curtly, looking away. Leorio finally puts an arm around his thin shoulders and pulls him closer, rubbing his arm through his coat. 

“You must be freezing,” he says, and Kurapika makes a noise of assent. “Let’s go inside.” 

Once they’re back inside, they tiptoe past the sleeping kids into the bedroom, where Leorio makes sure to lock the door securely. In the almost-dark room, Kurapika takes off his suit jacket and shoes, his tie loose around his neck. Leorio sits next to him on the bed and combs a strand of silky hair behind Kurapika’s soft earlobe. 

“Hi,” he says, his mouth going dry. Kurapika smiles. 

“Hello.” 

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, putting a tentative hand on Kurapika’s upper arm. “Is it bad that I miss you so much?” 

“I don’t know. Are you studying hard?” Kurapika replies, brushing Leorio’s knee through his jeans. The touch sends a cascade of shivers down Leorio’s spine. “I hope I’m not distracting you from school.” 

“I don’t mind,” Leorio says truthfully, his mind filling with static. “Kurapika…”

They both lean forward at the same time, and their lips meet hesitantly. Kurapika’s mouth is warm, and he tastes like sweet water. As he opens his mouth, his tongue sliding over Leorio’s bottom lip, Leorio forces himself to pull back and look Kurapika in the eye. He won’t be able to formulate another coherent thought if this continues in the direction it’s heading. 

“Wait,” he says, holding Kurapika’s shoulders gently, “one thing. Give me your number. If we’re going to do this again, and I want to more than anything, I want to be able to talk to you. I can’t go months without hearing your voice. I need to know that you’re safe.” 

“All right,” Kurapika agrees at once, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“Wait. For real? Really?” Leorio says between kisses, breathless and aching to continue but surprised by the lack of resistance. “That’s it? I asked you so many times.” 

“Things change,” Kurapika says simply, reaching down to unbutton Leorio’s jeans and push him backwards on the bed. Leorio obliges at once, lying down to pull Kurapika on top of him, straddling his hips. 

“Remember that we can’t be too noisy,” Leorio whispers, pulling Kurapika down for another kiss. “Killua is probably prowling around.” 

“I know. I'll be quiet,” Kurapika breathes into his ear. "I'm more worried about you."

He moves to brush his lips against Leorio’s neck, and Leorio can’t hold back a quickly stifled moan. Kurapika laughs and pulls Leorio’s sweater over his head as Leorio slides Kurapika’s white button down off of his shoulders. The contact of skin on skin gives Leorio an electric thrill. 

“I missed you too,” Kurapika says, his hands trailing underneath the waistband of Leorio’s jeans. “I miss you all the time. I think about you.” 

“You do?” Leorio breathes, hissing with pleasure as Kurapika’s cool hand touches his cock. “Fuck. Sorry…” 

He reaches for Kurapika’s boxers, brushing his fingers over the fabric and relishing Kurapika’s silent facial expressions. After teasing him for a minute, he slides his hand underneath the waistband and starts stroking Kurapika, building up a rhythm until Kurapika is clenching his teeth and balling up his fists. 

“I think about you,” Kurapika breathes again, whispering into Leorio’s neck. They’re both close. “I think about you all the time..”

Kurapika comes first, and the moment that Leorio sees it on his face, he can’t hold back any longer. He comes so hard that he feels dizzy afterwards, blinking around the dimly lit room. 

“Whoa. Happy new year,” he says to Kurapika as he stands up to look for a suitable towel and blow out the remaining candles. He feels drunk with endorphins. “Holy shit. You got better at that.” 

Towel in hand, he gets back in bed and gently cleans Kurapika off. 

“You ok?” he asks anxiously, unable to read Kurapika’s face in the near darkness. He gets into bed and adjusts his pillows, unsure if Kurapika wants to be held or touched. “Was that okay?” 

“Yes,” Kurapika says sleepily, rolling into Leorio’s arms and relaxing. “Very much so. Happy new year, Leorio.” 

He falls asleep quickly, just like the last time he slept here, and Leorio tries again to stay awake for as long as possible, wanting to enjoy all of it. But Kurapika’s steady breathing and the warmth of the blankets are making him drowsy, and before long he finds himself drifting off. 

Before he’s all the way asleep, he has the sensation of stepping off of a curb. He jolts back awake, heart pounding, with a single thought in his mind:

_The Smithsonian. The eyes in the Smithsonian. I didn’t tell him yet._

Kurapika makes a sound in his sleep and reaches for Leorio, and he lays back down, pulse decreasing. He makes a mental note to tell Kurapika about it in the morning, no matter how much of a hurry Kurapika is in to leave. 

There’s something incredibly comforting knowing that Gon, Killua, and Kurapika are all under his roof tonight, on this freezing cold New Year’s Eve. A year ago he could have never imagined a life so interesting and rich for himself. Contented, Leorio falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. 


	6. long time since gone

Leorio wakes up with a champagne headache. He opens his eyes, squinting against the bright morning sunlight in his room, and is dismayed to find the other half of his bed empty. His heart sinks. Did Kurapika leave without even saying goodbye this time? 

He immediately feels more hungover. Groaning, he gets out of bed and pulls on his threadbare bathrobe before walking into the kitchen. There are lights turned on in the house; the power must have come back on while he was sleeping. 

As he puts on the kettle to boil water for coffee, he hears a quiet conversation coming from the porch, and peers through the window to see Kurapika and Gon sitting on the steps. 

He’s flooded with relief. As he’s about to open the door to greet them, Kurapika catches his eye through the glass and shakes his head almost imperceptibly, glancing towards Gon. Leorio nods and retreats to get the coffee grinder out of the cabinet. 

Killua pads into the kitchen, yawning, as Leorio is pouring the water over the coffee grinds in the French press. His fluffy hair is sticking up wildly in every direction, and Leorio gives it a tousle as Killua pours himself a glass of orange juice and perches on the counter next to him.

“Morning, Killua,” Leorio says, sipping his coffee. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Fine. How long have they been out there?” Killua replies, nodding towards Gon and Kurapika out on the porch. “I woke up at like 4 am to pee and Gon wasn’t sleeping.” 

“I dunno. I just got up too. Let’s let ‘em talk.” 

As Leorio assembles breakfast ingredients, Killua watches through the window, frowning slightly. 

“Gon can talk to me, too,” he says, very quietly. “We used to talk about everything...” 

Leorio pauses in the middle of cracking an egg into the frying pan, looking up at him in surprise. 

“Oh...dude. I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, feeling awkward. Killua has never expressed vulnerability in his presence before. He pushes the eggs around in the pan for a moment, thinking. “It’s just...you know. I think he’s really having a weird time with his dad. But I’m sure it has nothing to do with you.” 

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to say, because Killua’s blue eyes suddenly fill with tears. He stares into his glass of orange juice, chin trembling. 

“Hey. Killua! Hey,” Leorio says quickly, setting down the spatula. “Look, man. Sometimes...sometimes the people who are the closest to us have the hardest time telling us when they’re sad about something, because they don’t want us to worry about them. Sometimes it’s easier to talk about stuff to people you don’t know as well.” 

Killua says nothing in reply, sniffing loudly and wiping his nose on his arm. Leorio pretends not to see the trail of glistening snot on Killua’s pajama sleeve and turns back to grate cheese into the eggs. 

“Morning, Killua!” Gon’s voice calls from the back door. “Hi, Leorio! Can me and Killua walk to Bisky’s?” 

Killua and Leorio turn to see Gon and Kurapika walking back inside, both pink-cheeked from the cold. Gon is still in his flannel pajamas, but Kurapika is wearing his rumpled suit from last night. His black eye is even more swollen than last night, but he’s smiling at Leorio over Gon’s head. Killua hastily drags a hand across his face before leaping down from the counter.

“Sure, you can go train today. I’m making a bunch of eggs and toast if you want some before you go. I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like shit,” Leorio says, grinning back at Kurapika and pouring him a cup of coffee. “Here. You look like you need this.” 

Kurapika accepts the steaming mug gratefully as Gon and Killua disappear back into the living room. 

“Everything okay?” Leorio asks in a low voice, turning off the burner. “Good morning, by the way. How’d you sleep?”

“I slept well. Thank you,“ Kurapika says, taking a long gulp of coffee. “And everything’s fine. We had a very nice conversation. I’ll tell you more later.” 

“Do you want some other clothes?” Leorio asks, nodding at Kurapika’s suit. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Oh. That would be nice, if you don’t mind. I wasn’t expecting to stay overnight.” 

Leorio scoffs and hands Kurapika a plate of scrambled eggs. 

“Uh huh. That’s what they all say.” 

Kurapika pretends not to hear him as he eats a mouthful of eggs, but Leorio doesn’t miss the way that his ears have turned red. 

“All I’m saying is you don’t need an excuse to come see me,” he says, dropping his teasing tone. “Really.” 

As Kurapika opens his mouth to reply, they’re interrupted by the drumbeat of running footsteps from the living room. 

“Bye, Leorio! Bye, Kurapika!” Gon yells down the hallway. “See you later!” 

“You guys don’t want to eat anything?” Leorio calls back. “You sure?” 

“No thanks! See you tonight!”

Kurapika and Leorio both wince as the front door slams.

“They’re like elephants,” Leorio mutters. “So loud. Okay. So. Now can you tell me?” 

“Would you mind if I took a shower first?” Kurapika asks, shrugging off his wrinkled suit jacket and hanging it over a chair. “I sat outside with Gon for quite a while, and it’s very cold.” 

“Oh! Sure. Uh. The hot water heater is a little finicky. And the tap is weird. Here, I’ll get it going for you.” 

Leorio puts their dirty plate in the sink and leads Kurapika down the hallway into the bathroom. 

“Here, you just, uh,” he says, leaning down to battle with the shower’s rusty handle, “you gotta kinda jerk it up, and then twist, and — “

“You don’t need an excuse, you know,” Kurapika interrupts, touching Leorio’s shoulder lightly. “Would you like to join me?”

Leorio blinks up at him, caught off guard. 

“What? Oh, I didn’t mean — I just. Uh.”

Kurapika rolls his eyes and begins undressing as the room fills with warm steam. Leorio’s brain finally catches up with the rest of him, and he quickly pulls off his bathrobe and tosses it on the ground as Kurapika tests the temperature of the water with his hand. 

Except for being a foot taller than everyone in middle school, Leorio has never felt particularly self-conscious about his body. He’s always been tall and gangly, but recently he’s put on more muscle from exercising semi-regularly and being able to afford healthier food. He’s never been a prude, either, but somehow, standing here naked in front of Kurapika, he’s never felt more exposed in his life. 

Although he’s seen all of the critical parts of Kurapika unclothed before, seeing him completely naked in broad daylight like this is a different thing altogether. Kurapika is all lean muscle and sharp edges. Leorio drinks in the sight of him, suddenly feeling much less hungover. 

Chuckling, Kurapika reaches up to take Leorio’s fogged-up glasses off of his face. 

“Do you usually shower with these on?” he asks, setting them on top of the medicine cabinet and getting into the shower. 

“Ah. Right,” Leorio murmurs, clumsily stepping in after Kurapika. 

The shower isn’t big enough for both of them to be underneath the water at the same time. Leorio shivers in the dry air as Kurapika washes his hair first, looking oddly young with his wet hair slicked against his neck. It makes his dark eyes look even larger in his thin face. 

“Go ahead,” Kurapika says, squeezing past Leorio to change places with him. “You must be cold. Anyways, my conversation with Gon,” he continues, reaching for a bar of soap, “I woke up early this morning and saw him sitting on the porch outside, and when I went out to greet him he was upset.”

“Yeah, I think I heard him crying the other night,” Leorio says, squeezing shampoo into his hand. “I assume it’s something to do with his dad, but he’s definitely not willing to talk to me about it.” 

“Somewhat, but I think it’s more than just that. I think he’s more worried that everyone else is going to abandon him, too.”

“Really? What did he say?” Leorio says, rinsing his head and guiding Kurapika back underneath the water. “Here, don’t freeze. Man, that makes me want to punch Ging.” 

“He’s concerned about being a burden to Mito, and you, and even Killua. He’s very anxious about causing anyone trouble. On that note, he has a sprained wrist from training and hasn’t told anyone about it, so you might want to confront him about that before it heals incorrectly.” 

Leorio’s stomach clenches with guilt. 

“A sprained…? Shit. How did I miss that?” 

“He’s a good actor,” Kurapika shrugs, squeezing the water out of his hair. “He almost fooled me, too, but his sleeve got caught on the door handle when we were coming back inside and I noticed the bruising.” 

“Damn. Okay. I’ll take a look at it later. Thanks.” 

“Are you finished?” Kurapika asks, his hand on the faucet. 

“Oh. Yep.” 

Leorio gets out first and hands a towel to Kurapika before getting his own and tying it around his waist. 

“Sorry it’s so cold in here,” he apologizes. “The heat isn’t great.” 

“That’s all right,” Kurapika says. “I don’t mind. I, um…”

He leans forward and kisses Leorio deeply. Leorio is so taken aback that he stops breathing for a moment and reaches up to run his fingers through Kurapika’s wet hair as he kisses him back. 

“Jesus, Kurapika,” Leorio wheezes when they break apart for air. “You drive me nuts.” 

“How long will Gon and Killua be out?” Kurapika asks, pressing his thigh against Leorio’s erection through the towel. “Do we have time?”

“Yes. Yes we have time,” Leorio says at once, breathing hard, and Kurapika laughs. 

“Leorio. Really. I don’t want to have another after-school-special talk with a child today. I already did my duty this morning.” 

Leorio laughs too, feeling his chest and face flush with warmth. 

“Hey, you’re the one with your hand on my dick. I was gonna be polite and let you get dressed first,” he says happily, closing his eyes. He goes limp with pleasure against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall as Kurapika kisses a trail down the still-damp skin of his stomach. “You started it. _Fuck_ , Kurapika…”

“Shut up,” Kurapika mutters, but his lips are curved into a smile as he pulls aside the towel and wraps his mouth around Leorio’s cock. 

* * *

“Can I ask you a question?” Kurapika says as they’re getting dressed in the bedroom. “I don’t mean to be offensive.” 

He’s pulling on a pair of Leorio’s tightest jeans and a worn flannel shirt that used to be Zepile’s. Both articles of clothing are comically large on his small frame. He has to roll up the sleeves three times to see his hands. Leorio would comment on how adorable it was if he hadn’t also once witnessed Kurapika utterly incapacitate a man with his bare hands. 

“Sure,” Leorio replies amicably, buttoning up his own shirt. “Fire away.” 

“Well. Some men might find this...ah. How do I say this,” Kurapika says almost to himself, turning away from Leorio. “But. Well. You’re very good at...reciprocating. That is to say…well. Never mind.” 

Leorio watches in bemusement as Kurapika turns bright red, still muttering. 

“Are you telling me that I give good head?” Leorio asks, unable to wipe the grin from his face. “You are, right?” 

Kurapika makes an affronted noise, rolling up the hems of his too-long jeans. 

“I didn’t want to be crude. I just wondered if you’ve...well. Have you...dated men before?”

“Um,” Leorio starts, sitting down on the bed to put his socks on, “well, I’ve never actually been in a relationship with another guy before, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re the first. I grew up in a pretty religious family that was definitely not down with it. I wasn’t really aware of much pop culture normalizing it as a kid, either.” 

“I certainly understand that aspect of it,” Kurapika says lightly, and Leorio laughs. 

“Right. Duh, sorry. So yeah. I’ve had two kinda-serious girlfriends, one in high school, one in the city when I was a little older. But, you know, once my abuelita died and I moved out on my own, I went to a lot of artist-y parties with Zepile, and, you know.” 

He stops to collect his thoughts for a moment, surprised by his own candor. Kurapika is leaning against the wall and listening intently. 

“And being drunk and high a lot helped, too,” Leorio continues, “or at least, it took away the residual shame I had about being into dudes. Zepile had been dating guys for years by that point, and Pietro didn’t care. Well, I mean, he thought I was going to hell for it,” he amends, “but, like, that was just a Puerto Rican Catholic thing. He didn’t _actually_ care. You know?” 

Kurapika nods appraisingly. 

“I’ve met similar people. Opposed in ideology but not in practice.” 

“Right,” Leorio agrees. “Plus, I’m not a very...well. You know. Stereotypical gay guy, I guess, so I can kinda pass for whatever. That helps with people not giving me shit, which I admit is completely unfair. So, to answer your question, yes, I’ve hooked up with I think four or five other guys before. But...you’re so different. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” He pauses to take a breath, smiling at Kurapika. “What about you?” 

“Well,” Kurapika starts, frowning, “my experience as a Kurta is very hard to compare to...anything else, really. In some ways Kurtan society was very sophisticated when it came to gender and sexuality, and it was not uncommon for men to raise families together, or for women to transition to living as men, and so on. But we never discussed it, nor were we taught much about our own bodies as children. Most outside books were forbidden, although I managed to find some, regardless of the restrictions put in place by the elders.” 

“That doesn’t really surprise me at all, knowing you,” Leorio teases, and Kurapika flashes him a faint smile. 

“Right. I was determined. And I don’t mean to say that it was a cruel place to grow up, not at all. I was very loved, and they were trying to protect us. And maybe they were right, really, because right before the end, I saw something that terrified me as an impressionable and hot-headed eleven-year-old. A local missionary group had left some of their materials at the village gate, and I managed to get my hands on them before I was punished.” 

“And was it some homophobic Christian shit?” Leorio guesses. “Fire and brimstone?” 

Kurapika nods, his mouth in a thin line. 

“To put it lightly. It was painful to see such vitriol, and yet I was curious to find out why anyone from the outside would think that way. I didn’t understand how such hatred was possible. Now, of course,” he says with a rueful laugh, “it seems very tame, looking back. Old-fashioned Christian hell would be nothing compared to what happened to my brethren.” 

Leorio nods and says nothing, waiting for him to go on. He’s never heard Kurapika talk so openly about his past. 

“And..after what happened to Pairo, I couldn’t bear to let myself be close to anyone for a long time. A very long time. But working with the Nostrades, I did meet people occasionally. And although I was frightened by closeness, I was also a lonely teenager,” Kurapika continues, sitting down on the bed next to Leorio. “It’s another don’t ask, don’t tell culture, so it was easy enough to carry on certain things in private.” 

“Right. With...other bodyguards, and stuff?” Leorio asks, curious. He can’t imagine Kurapika as a nervous teenager. “Or people you met travelling?”

“Both, from time to time. But never anything that lasted longer than a few months. I had to stay on the move.” 

Leorio hums sympathetically. 

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t wanna get into it, but...where did you go? What did you do after...after everything happened? Were you just on your own?” 

“No. Although I had been away from home when it happened, it was so highly publicized that I wasn’t able to slip through the cracks. I was taken to a state-run orphanage for three years, just outside of Tokyo. It wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened at that point. My Japanese improved dramatically out of necessity. And when I was fifteen, I figured out a way to leave, and quickly found employment running deliveries for a branch of the Yakuza.” 

“And after that?” Leorio prompts, half joking. Kurapika stands up and stretches, looking away from Leorio’s gaze. 

“And after that more time passed until I ended up in the middle of nowhere with you, I suppose,” Kurapika replies, reticent once more, and Leorio sighs. 

“Ah, I figured it was worth a shot, at least.” 

He stands up too, yawning and pushing his glasses farther up his nose. As his gaze alights on the dresser, he suddenly remembers the earrings stashed inside the sock drawer. 

“Oh!” he cries, making Kurapika jump. “I forgot! Wait. Two things. Um. Do you want a present first, or do you want to talk about something serious?”

Kurapika looks alarmed, his eyes widening. 

“More serious than what we just discussed? Tell me first. Give me the present next time I’m here. I don’t have anything for you in return.” 

“Oh, this is just for the embroidery you sent,” Leorio assures him, but Kurapika waves it away. 

“No, no. Let me get you something properly first. What do you need to tell me?” 

Leorio is slightly crestfallen, but continues anyway, his pulse quickening. 

“So. I’m working on a research project with one of my professors. It’s about anatomical abnormalities and their chromosomal expressions. I’m mostly just editing stuff and running errands for her, but she’s asked me to go to the Smithsonian museum in DC to study...well, to study a pair of…of eyes.” 

He stops, trying to gauge Kurapika’s reaction, but Kurapika only nods curtly, looking unsurprised. 

“I was aware that there was a pair that a collector from Berlin was considering selling to the museum. I’m surprised she let them go, to be honest. I take it they’re not on display?” 

“No, just in storage, but my professor, Dr. Cheadle, wants me to go and report back on them for her. So,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, I have no idea where to go from there. But I will be allowed to be in a room with them. Maybe more than once.” 

“I can’t ask you to put yourself in harm’s way for me, Leorio,” Kurapika says swiftly. “I should have never asked you to endanger yourself in Tokyo. It was foolish and selfish of me.” 

“Nah. Come on. You didn’t force me to do that, and you’re not forcing me to do this, either. Don’t worry,” Leorio says in a placating tone, but Kurapika heaves a tired sigh.

“I know what you’re thinking, Leorio, but please, it’s just too dangerous. I can’t even fathom how tight the security might be. I’m sure they would have no reservations mortally wounding a potential thief. Look,” he says, putting a hand on Leorio’s arm, “it’s good to know that they are there. If anything, I’m relieved that they are no longer owned by a private collector. But please, put it out of your mind. Do the research you need to do for your teacher. I have several other leads I need to track down right now, and one day I’ll be able to recover all of them. Thank you, though, for telling me.” 

Leorio looks into Kurapika’s eyes for a moment, trying to decide if he’s bluffing, but Kurapika looks so worn-out and grim that he lets the subject drop. 

“It’s so nice to just sit and talk to you again,” he says instead, squeezing Kurapika’s hand. “I always loved walking through the park and the Village and everything with you last spring and talking for ages. This is so nice.” 

“I agree,” Kurapika says, squeezing Leorio’s hand back. “I meant it when I said I missed you. Everything is so much better with you around.” 

“So are you going to stick around for a few days?” Leorio asks hopefully. “You don’t have to jet off anywhere?” 

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Kurapika says, a faint worry line creasing his eyebrows. “I know you’ve got a full house here already.” 

“Like I’d rather stay here with two crazy-ass twelve year old boys by myself and not have you here, dummy,” Leorio says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not in the way. Please stay! At the very least, I need another adult here. I don’t know if you noticed, but there is a lethal level of pre-teen angst in this house right now.” 

Kurapika chuckles, nudging against Leorio’s arm.

“Well. If you’re sure it’s all right, I’d love to stay for a few days. Let me buy groceries, at least. I think the lethal doses of angst have returned, by the way.”

They both turn towards the door at the sound of footsteps on the porch. 

“Do they usually get back this early?” Kurapika asks, and Leorio shakes his head.

“Nope. I wonder what’s up.” 

“They’ve brought someone with them,” Kurapika remarks, cocking his head to listen. “There are three sets of footsteps.” 

“Huh. Did Bisky bring them back because she’s tired of them?” Leorio says under his breath, walking into the hallway to investigate. Kurapika follows behind him, frowning. 

The front door opens, and Gon and Killua tumble inside, noisily kicking off their snow-covered shoes. Leorio hurries into the living room to see them both quickly straighten up, clearly trying to shield something from view. 

“...it’s not that I’m mad, Killua, I just don’t want Leorio to get — oh, hi!” Gon says, stopping short and looking up at the adults with obvious guilt on his face. “Um…” 

“What? Why do you look like that?” Leorio demands. “What’s that behind you?” 

Beside Gon, Killua gulps and steps aside to reveal a small dark-haired girl in a pink snowsuit. 

“Hi,” she chirps, peering up at Leorio with huge black eyes. “My name is Alluka. Who are you?” 


	7. always for you

Leorio blinks down at the small dark-haired girl, momentarily speechless. 

"Hello, Alluka," Kurapika says from behind Leorio, crouching down in front of the girl and offering a hand. She shakes it, giggling. "It's nice to see you again. How did you get here?" 

"Killua, what's going on?" Leorio manages to splutter, rounding on Killua as he fidgets with his sleeves. Gon hovers behind him, his eyes wide and anxious. "Who is this?" 

"My little sister," Killua says, his voice growing brittle. He glances over at Alluka anxiously as Kurapika helps her out of her puffy pink jacket. "And before you get mad, just...just let me explain." 

"I'm not mad, Killua, I'm just wondering what's going on," Leorio says, trying to keep his voice non-threatening. He kneels down beside Kurapika to greet Alluka as she watches him with her enormous eyes. "Hi, kid. Name's Leorio. So you're Killua's little sister, hmm?" 

"Yep!" Alluka nods, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "I came on the train with Canary from New York! It took so long and I ate a pizza and played Minecraft until Killua and Gon came to get me and—"

"You came from New York? Who's Canary?" Leorio interrupts, turning back towards Killua. "Hey, man. What's going on?" He stands up and pats his pockets for his cell phone. "I need to call your parents before I get arrested for kidnapping. Where is that number..." 

"Wait!" Killua cries, reaching to grab Leorio's wrist. "Wait. Please don't call them! Let me explain. Can...can we go talk outside for a minute?" 

Leorio pauses with his finger over Silva's number and looks at Killua's anguished face before letting his hand fall with a sigh. 

"Okay. Come on. Kurapika, Gon, stay here with her, okay?" 

They both nod, and Kurapika leads Alluka by the hand into the living room as Killua follows Leorio outside onto the porch. 

"Okay. Fire away," Leorio says, shoving his hands in his jean pockets to warm them up. The sun is shining on the snow and melting the icicles on the gutters, but it's still barely above freezing. Killua takes a deep breath before speaking. 

"She can't be with my parents anymore. So I asked our butler to—"

“Your butler?" Leorio interjects, eyes widening. "You have a _butler_?" 

"We have, like, twenty," Killua says impatiently as Leorio's jaw drops, "but that doesn't matter right now, what I need to talk to you about is—Alluka can't be at home with my parents anymore. And they're gonna get rid of her and lock her up somewhere horrible and let the state take care of her. My brother told me about it right after Christmas. So I asked the nicest butler to bring her here so...so that...maybe...you could take care of her. She's my baby sister and I can't lose her,” he finishes in a rush, looking close to tears. "I thought you could help. Please!" 

Leorio sucks in a long gulp of air and puts his hands on his head, feeling overwhelmed. This was not something that he knew how to handle. 

"Killua, I...I don't mean to pry into your family stuff, but...you gotta tell me a little more about what's going on at home." 

Killua's face grows dark, and he kicks at a lump of ice on the porch. The melting icicles drip steadily onto the ground.

"Well. They don't even treat her like she's human. She's always had these outbursts, and she can be difficult with other people, but she's only ever sweet to me." 

"What do you mean? How do they treat her?" Leorio prods. "What happens at home?" 

"Um. A lot of stuff. When she was really little, they, uh, they kept her in a room by herself all day because she cried a lot. And when I would try to go help her, they punished me for it. And now that she's getting older they keep bringing in different nannies and caregivers and stuff to deal with her but I guess last month they all quit and now my parents are giving up and they're just gonna give her away and they don't even call her the right name or give her the right clothes or anything and—"

"The right name?" Leorio cuts him off, frowning. "What do you mean? The right clothes?" 

"She's a girl," Killua says, tears sparkling in his icy blue eyes, "but she was...you know...born as a boy. But my parents and older brothers still call her by the wrong name and give her boy clothes and stuff and it's really messed up. I think that's the only reason why she gets mad at people, too." 

As Leorio pauses to process that information, he feels a wave of contempt for Killua's parents. 

"Well. Shit," he tells Killua, who sags in relief. "Okay. Yeah. I get it. That is really messed up. I agree."

"So can you help? Can she stay here?"

Leorio sighs, and Killua's face falls.

"Um. It's not...it's not really that simple, unfortunately. I still have to call your parents. Do they know she’s here?”

“They must," Killua shrugs, "because they let her go. The butlers take care of us like ninety-nine percent of the time anyways. So I dunno what Canary told my parents to let them let Alluka go." 

That makes Leorio feel incrementally better, but his stomach is still churning with anxiety. He has no idea what to do, but he needs to put on a brave face to make Killua feel better. 

"All right. So listen. I'm gonna talk to your parents and ask if it's okay for both of you guys to be here for a few more days. Okay? But after that, I can't promise anything right now. I'm a total stranger to Alluka right now, so even if I applied to be a temporary guardian or something, I would have to prove to the courts and social workers and lots of other people that I had spent lots of time with her and knew her really well. It's a long process." 

"Oh," Killua says, looking miserable. "You can't just say you want to take care of her?" 

"No. It's pretty complicated," Leorio says gently. "I'm sorry, Killua. Alluka is lucky to have such a good big brother." 

Killua blushes and grumbles something under his breath, and Leorio claps him on the shoulder. 

"Come on. It's really cold out. Why don't you go back in while I call your parents? It'll be okay, Killua. We'll make sure Alluka is okay." 

He says it with much more conviction than he feels, and offers a bright smile as Killua nods and trudges back inside.

Once the door swings shut, Leorio dials Silva's number, his heart pounding with nerves. Their last phone call had not been particularly warm, and now he feels a good deal more animosity towards the man. After three rings, Silva picks up. 

"I take it that you're calling about my sons?"

His low growl of a voice is intimidating, even over the phone. Leorio takes a deep breath, bracing himself. 

"Hello. This is Silva, right?" 

"Speaking." 

"Um..." Leorio starts, wondering how to phrase it, "so, I guess you're aware that Killua and Alluka are both here with me now, and, uh...that's okay with you?" 

"We're aware that Killua asked for his brother to come stay with him, yes," Silva replies placidly. "We are not concerned. Our butlers are highly competent." 

"What is _wrong_ with you people?" Leorio blurts out, his temper getting the best of him. "Are you serious? These are your kids! Aren't you worried about them being hundreds of miles away from you with some stranger? Don't you know what kind of people are out there in the world? I could be a serial killer!" 

"Are you insinuating that I should be concerned?" Silva rumbles. Leorio groans in frustration, kicking an icicle on the ground. 

"No! Of course not! But that's not the point." 

"Is there a problem with the children staying with you? If so, we can arrange for the butlers to bring them back. We don't wish to inconvenience you." 

"It's not an inconvenience," Leorio snaps. "But if I were you, I'd look after your kids more carefully. Good _bye_." 

He hangs up and pockets his phone with a huff before stamping back inside, shaking the snow from his tennis shoes. He hears laughter coming from the apartment, but he stays in the kitchen to collect himself for a moment, breathing hard and massaging his temples. 

* * *

“Okay!” Leorio thunders when he steps back inside of the warm kitchen, and Kurapika and the kids all glance up in alarm. “No more surprise houseguests, all right? Geez! You guys all crashed Gon’s vacation with me!”

“That’s okay!” Gon reassures them quickly, smiling and rubbing his head. “I’m glad that Killua and Alluka came! And Kurapika! It’s like a big party now!”

”Something like that,” Leorio hisses as he rummages through his pantry to check for rations. Ordering pizza all the time was getting too expensive. “Okay. Gon, Killua, go play with Alluka in the other room while we make dinner. Kurapika, help me cook. Capeesh?”

Gon salutes him and sprints out of the kitchen, Killua and Alluka tagging at his heels. Once they’re out of sight, Kurapika comes up and places a tentative hand on Leorio’s back as he clangs around in the cupboards, looking for his big pots and pans.   
  
“Leorio. Are you all right?” Kurapika asks quietly, and Leorio realizes that he’s clenching his teeth. He finds a sauce pan and straightens up, massaging his jaw. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

Kurapika takes the pan from him and puts it on the stove before retrieving a cutting board and an onion. 

”Pasta,” he explains. “You have canned tomatoes, and noodles, and cheese. They’ll eat it, and we won’t have to go to the store.”

”Great,” Leorio says, and begins mechanically chopping the onion. “Thanks.”

”Just let me know what else I can do to help,” Kurapika says, and sets about cooking the noodles. Once the water is boiling, he dumps several cans of ingredients into a simmering saucepan, stirring occasionally and tasting it on his finger before adding dashes of various spices.   
  
As he watches Kurapika cook, Leorio’s mind begins to race. Gon was supposed to go home in four days, but where would Killua and Alluka go then? Would Mito be able to take them in? What would Leorio need to do to take care of them for longer? But then again, how could he possibly take care of two kids when school started? Maybe Bisky could watch them during the day. Or perhaps he could take a leave of absence this semester? 

But what about Cheadle’s research? How could he pay rent without taking out his student loans? How could he ever catch up with schoolwork after missing a semester? If he drops out of school and never becomes a doctor, how was he supposed to deal with the fact that Pietro was dead? 

His palms begin to itch. He has a sense of a dark tunnel closing in on him, choking him and pressing in on his chest and eyes. 

At some point Leorio becomes aware that Kurapika is gently removing the knife and cutting board from his tightly clenched hands. He looks down and registers with dazed surprise that the onion he’s been cutting is now completely pulverized into hundreds of minuscule chunks.

”Perfect,” Kurapika says, smiling faintly and spooning the onion into the sauce. “Why don’t you go sit down?”

Leorio does as he’s told, and sinks into the dining room chair. Kurapika turns back around to clatter with something, and appears after a moment with a glass of whiskey on ice, a lemon slice rimming the top. 

“Oh. Thanks. You don’t have to,” Leorio says, but gratefully accepts the glass and downs half of it in one sip. The liquor burns his throat and snaps him back to reality. “Damn. Sorry. Dunno what got into me back there.” 

“It hasn’t been very long for you, Leorio,” Kurapika says quietly, turning back to stir the sauce. Finishing his drink, Leorio stiffens. “It takes a long time to shake off the panic. I still haven’t. But you’ll learn to live with it.” 

“I’m doing fine,” Leorio replies, but he’s betrayed by his ragged voice. “It’s—it’s fine. Things are going really well. I’m in school and—you’re here, and...I’ll figure it out.”

”If you try to keep shutting it out, it will catch up with you eventually.” Kurapika pauses to taste the sauce again. He nods and dumps the cooked pasta into the pan, shaking it around. “I know I’m not really one to give advice, but. I worry about you.”

”Ah! Don’t!” Leorio says, waving his hand. He tries to give Kurapika a nonchalant smile, but ends up displaying a sort of grimace instead. “It’s fine! It’s all fine! Okay, should we feed the kids?” 

It’s growing dark outside, and they haven’t yet turned on any lights in the kitchen. Standing in the twilight, Kurapika surveys him for a long moment with his dark feline eyes, and Leorio feels the hair at the back of his neck stand up.

”What?” he snaps, too brusque, before softening and reaching for Kurapika with a placating hand on his shoulder. “Sorry. I just. This is...a lot.” 

“I know. I’ll be here until you tell me to leave,” Kurapika says, his face uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t worry.” 

As Leorio opens his mouth to reply, his phone rings again. Thinking that it’s Silva, he mutters an apology to Kurapika, and hurries out to the porch again to take the call.

”Leorio?”

It’s a female voice, and Leorio struggles to place it. 

“Yes...? Oh! Dr. Cheadle! Hi. Sorry! I was expecting someone else,” he sighs in relief, pacing around on the porch. The sky has turned to a pale violet. ”How are you? Happy new year!”

”Same to you! Is this a good time to talk?” she asks, sounding slightly out of breath, and continues without waiting for an answer. “Anyways, I’ve just gotten off the phone with the Smithsonian. It looks like things are moving faster with the Kurtan exhibit than they had originally planned.” 

It takes Leorio a moment to process what she’s just said. 

“The Smith...oh! The Kurtan eyes. Right. So...they’re already at the museum?”   
  
“Yes, and it looks like they’ll be taken out of storage much sooner than originally planned. The exhibit is predicted to attract a fair amount of publicity, so they’re worried about security, and want to move the eyes to a more secure location before the exhibit opens. Which brings me to my question today!”

”All right,” Leorio says apprehensively. It was difficult to say no to her. 

“We had spoken about you going to DC later this spring, I know, but I’m wondering if you’d be able to make the trip sooner, so you can examine the eyes and complete our research before they transfer them. Once they’re in the higher security clearance, it’ll be a nightmare getting access to them. I’m friends with the curator in charge of things now, and he’s promised that you can go in and perform a research-based examination. What do you think?” 

“Um,” Leorio says, rubbing the back of his neck, “er, of course I’ll go. Sure. How soon is soon?”

”Well! How about tomorrow?” she says brightly, and Leorio groans inwardly. “I wish I could go, but I’m on call at the hospital all week. What say you? The curator can meet you the day after tomorrow at the museum. I’ll pay for two nights in a hotel, plus travel expenses and per diem.” 

Leorio pokes at a lump of snow and briefly considers making up an emergency, but can’t think of anything convincing enough.

Besides, as crazy as it would be to drag the entire ragtag band along with him, this was a perfect opportunity to get Kurapika closer to the eyes. The kids could provide a good cover if anyone was suspicious. 

“Well. Why not! I can go,” he says, and Cheadle makes a triumphant noise. “Hang on, let me write this all down.” 

* * *

The plan is as follows: 

1\. Leorio will go to DC tomorrow, check into the Commodore Hotel, and have the rest of the day off.   
2\. The day after tomorrow, Leorio will meet with a guy called Howard Jensen, the head curator, at the main office in the Smithsonian. Howard will let him into the storerooms in the back of the museum, where he’ll have about an hour to thoroughly examine and document the eyes.   
3\. Leorio will send his findings to Cheadle by next week so she can start the next draft of the book. 

They talk for a while longer to hash out all of the details, and end by exchanging some holiday-related small talk.

When Leorio hangs up ten minutes later and stamps back inside, his teeth chattering from the cold, Kurapika is dishing up bowls of spaghetti for the kids. He looks up expectantly, a speck of tomato sauce stuck to his shirt.

“Everything all right?” 

“Yes. No. Uh. I dunno,” Leorio says with a half-laugh, and Kurapika raises his eyebrows and follows him back out onto the porch as the kids inhale their bowls of pasta standing up.

He gives a quick run-down of the situation while Kurapika listens seriously without interrupting, nodding every so often. 

“I see,” Kurapika says when Leorio finishes, and frowns at the ground. “Well. It sounds like you’ve got to go. I’ll come along and help. But Leorio, you must _not_ try to remove the eyes. It’s far too dangerous.” 

“Yeah. I know. But I feel like I need to get to the bottom of this.” 

“You don’t have to do it for me,” Kurapika says. “You don’t owe me that. I’ve told you that I don’t want you in danger for me.” 

“I’m not doing it cause I owe you. I’m doing it because I want to. And I care about you,” Leorio says stubbornly. “So you can save that speech.”   
  
Kurapika nods, lost in thought, and Leorio glances inside to make sure that the kids are still eating their pasta. 

”One favor, though,” Kurapika continues. “If I may.”

”Yeah, of course. What is it?”

”I’d like to...see the photographs. Once you examine it. Just to see who it was. Would that be...”

Leorio’s stomach turns over as the bleak reality of what he’s about to do hits him with full force. He meets Kurapika’s eyes and nods once.

”Of course. Of course you can see them.” 

* * *

It takes a long time to get all of the kids fed and tooth-brushed and put to bed on various couches. Once they’re settled, Leorio rushes around packing his two battered suitcases with enough clothing and toiletries for all five of them for two days. After he finishes with the bags, he confronts Gon about his sprained arm. 

“Next time you hurt yourself, just tell me, okay?” he chastises as he wraps an Ace bandage around Gon’s bruised wrist. “You’re not bothering me! I just want you to be safe.” 

Gon nods sheepishly and sticks his tongue out. 

“Okay. Sorry, Leorio.” 

“It’s okay! Just be careful, will ya?”

Once that’s done, Leorio also has to call Mito, and Silva again, to ask permission to take the kids with him. Mito thinks it’s a wonderful idea and thanks him profusely for spending time with Gon, which is nice as a palate cleanser after another short, cold conversation with Silva. 

They’re leaving for DC first thing in the morning. Cheadle suggested taking the train, but Leorio feels that driving will be less stressful, since they won’t have to worry about timetables and gross train bathrooms. It’s about a four hour drive, so hopefully they’ll make it without anything too dramatic happening. 

Kurapika helps him pack, and puts together a few bags of car snacks and water bottles. When they finish, they stack the suitcases and snacks by the door before heading to bed themselves. 

* * *

They’re both too tired and nervous about the trip to fool around. Leorio kisses Kurapika’s soft hair as they lie in the darkness, both lost in thought.   
  
“Sorry this got so crazy,” Leorio murmurs, stroking Kurapika’s bony rib cage. “The morning started out really nice.” 

“S’allright,” Kurapika mumbles back, already half-asleep. “You didn’t plan on it happening this way. It’s okay.” 

“Can I take you on a real date when the kids leave?” Leorio asks, watching a shimmering cloud roll past the moon through the window. “I’d really like that.”

”That sounds nice,” Kurapika yawns, and rolls against Leorio’s side. Before long, he’s asleep. 

Leorio is still tightly wound with anxiety, but he tries to regulate his breathing and slow his mind. He needs to be in good shape for the next few days. Eventually, he drifts off to sleep, his mouth still pressed against Kurapika’s citrus-scented hair. 

* * *

Morning seems to come after about twenty minutes. Still groggy, Leorio jumps into a scalding hot shower and gets ready as Kurapika wakes up the kids and feeds them some leftover pasta. Once Leorio is dressed, it’s Kurapika’s turn for a shower. Leorio helps Alluka brush her teeth and wash her face as Gon and Killua fold up their blankets in the living room.   


Everyone is yawning and sleepy as they put on their coats and double check their backpacks and suitcases. By 8:30 am, they’re ready to leave. 

“Everybody needs to go use the bathroom one last time before we leave,” Leorio instructs, standing in the hallway with the suitcases. “It’s about a four hour drive, so the fewer stops we can make, the better.”

“I’m good,” Gon announces cheerfully, zipping up his coat. “All ready!”

“Me too,” Killua says, and Alluka nods from his elbow.

“I don’t need to go! I went five minutes ago,” she informs Leorio, chewing on the neck of her sweater. “Can I play on my tablet in the car?”

“Nope. You’ll get carsick. Are you sure you don’t need to pee, Alluka? It’s a long drive.”

She shakes her head fiercely as Kurapika emerges from the bedroom, buttoning up his coat.

“Okay. Everyone good?” Leorio asks, opening the door and locking the rusty deadbolt. “Gon, Killua, you guys got the suitcases? Kurapika, do you have the bag of snacks? Everyone’s ready?”

“Yes, Leorio,” Kurapika and Killua groan in unison as Gon chuckles. They all step outside into the damp morning air, their breath fogging in the cold.

“Okay, okay! Just don’t complain in an hour from now when somebody forgot something,” Leorio huffs, opening the trunk of the Honda and shoving the bags inside. “Speak now or forever hold your peace. Or your pee. Whatever.”

The kids pile into the backseat of the car, chattering, as Kurapika gets settled in the passenger seat and pulls up the directions on his phone.

“What’s the hotel, again?” Kurapika asks as Leorio starts the car. The engine gives a feeble sputter before igniting, and Leorio says a silent prayer that it survives the drive.

“Uh, the Commodore. On North Capitol.”

Kurapika nods and types in the address as Leorio pulls out of the driveway.

It’s gray and overcast as they drive out of Roanoke and onto the freeway. The sky is a flat pearly white, and there’s a crust of dirty snow stuck to the side of the road.

As the kids talk in the backseat, Leorio lowers his voice and leans closer to Kurapika, who’s been staring silently out the window for the past ten minutes. His face is ashen, and his forehead glistens with sweat.

“Hey. Feeling okay? Do you get carsick?”

Kurapika blinks and turns to face Leorio, giving him a wan smile.

“Not usually. Just a little queasy today, I suppose.”

“Uh oh. You sure you don’t need some water or something? The mountain roads are going to be curvy.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Kurapika says, clutching the center console. His voice is calm, but his knuckles are white. “Don’t worry.”

Leorio nods and pats Kurapika on the arm.

“Okay. Just let me know if we need to stop.”

They drive for another twenty minutes until Alluka announces that she needs to pee. Leorio pulls into a rest stop in the woods, and all three of the kids tumble out of the backseat and run across the grass towards the bathrooms. Once they’re out of sight, Kurapika gets out of the car and walks behind a tree to throw up. Leorio hovers a few feet away.

“Oh no. Can I get you something to drink? I’m sorry,” he calls, fidgeting with the car keys. “Is Gatorade okay? Yellow? Blue? Red? The electrolytes will help.”

Kurapika emerges from behind the tree, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Thank you. A drink would help,” he murmurs, looking miserable, and Leorio sets off at a jog towards the vending machines inside the covered rest area.

As he’s feeding quarters into the soda machine, Gon, Killua, and Alluka emerge from the bathroom, drying their wet hands on their pants.

“Can I have a soda?” Alluka begs, coming up beside Leorio and fixing him with a pleading stare. “Please? I’m really thirsty!”

“Nope,” Leorio says as the machine deposits a Gatorade bottle with a clunk. “There’s water in the car. That’s better for you anyways.”

“But then how come you get to drink Gatorade?” Alluka replies, eyeing him suspiciously. “That’s not fair!”

“It’s for Kurapika because he’s sick. Can you be nice to him? Hmm?”

He buys a second Gatorade and a packet of mint gum as Alluka heaves a dramatic sigh and stalks away, hurrying to catch up with the boys.

After a moment of consideration, he buys himself a Red Bull, even though he knows they’re terrible for him, and drinks it in one gulp. Something tells him that he’s going to need a lot of energy and patience to get through the rest of the day.

When he gets back to the car, the kids are piling into the backseat while Kurapika stands outside. Some of the color has returned to his cheeks.

“Ready to go?” Leorio asks, twirling the keys. “Everybody good?”

“Yep!” Gon and Killua call, and Alluka nods.

“Okay. Everyone buckled up? Nobody needs to pee again? Awesome.”

“Leorio,” Kurapika says as Leorio checks the kids’ seatbelts, “it might help if I drove. Would you mind?”

Leorio hesitates, chewing his lip.

“Um. I wouldn’t mind, but...I don’t have a second driver on my insurance, so I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m sorry.”

“I’m a very competent driver,” Kurapika says briskly. “I frequently chauffeur my bosses in New York and Tokyo alike. You don’t have to worry about my ability.”

“I’m sure. But if we get into an accident, my insurance won’t cover you, and I’ll be at fault. I’m sorry. But I’ll change my policy when I get home, so you can drive in the future.”

“I have a perfect driving record in two countries,” Kurapika says fiercely. His eyes flash behind his dark contacts. “I can assure you that I won’t get us into an accident!”

“Kurapika,” Leorio says, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry. I know that this is a stressful trip.”

Kurapika appraises him for a moment longer before sighing and getting back inside of the car, looking resigned.

“Sorry,” Leorio repeats, starting the ignition. “I’ll try to drive really smoothly so you don’t feel sick.”

“Yes,” Kurapika says primly, and falls silent with his hands folded on his lap. 

* * *

They drive deeper into the mountains, and Leorio is relieved when all four of his passengers fall asleep. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and tries to think over his plans for discussing the eyes with the curator, but instead finds himself replaying the interaction with Kurapika.

A year ago Leorio could have barely imagined himself a situation like this. Except for the morbid reality of the trip’s purpose, it all felt weirdly normal. It felt right to do things with Kurapika at his side. Add in the gaggle of kids in the backseat, and Leorio can almost pretend that they’re a family taking a road trip. The notion gives him an odd feeling. It’s something between cautious hope and deep sadness.

As he drives, he glances over at Kurapika’s sleeping face and feels a rush of affection. He wishes, for the millionth time, that Pietro could have met this complicated and beautiful person. 

* * *

It’s blustery and cold when they finally get to DC. By the time they pull into the hotel parking deck, Kurapika and the kids are groggy and disheveled from napping the entire way, but Leorio is frazzled from the last hour of traffic. 

Cheadle booked Leorio one room with two king beds, so when they’re checking in at the front desk, Leorio asks for a cot for Alluka. It will be crowded with all five of them in one room, but the rooms are $650 a night. He’s definitely not willing to pay for a second one. 

“Leorio, look! They have a pool!” Gon cries in the elevator as they ride up to their room. He points at a poster on the wall that advertises the hotel’s indoor rooftop aquatic center. “Can we go swimming? Please?” 

“Uh. Did you bring your swim trunks?” Leorio asks, feeling preemptively tired just thinking about it. “Usually nice hotels won’t let you swim unless you’re in real swimsuits.” 

“Yup!” Gon nods. “Of course. I bring mine everywhere.” 

“You do?” Killua asks incredulously. “Why?”

“Because you never know when you’re gonna find a pool! Or an ocean!” Gon says brightly. “And this proves it!”

“Your logic is sound, Gon,” Kurapika says, smiling for the first time in hours, and Leorio softens.

“Ugh. Fine. But you need to be careful with your arm. Killua, Alluka, we’ll find you guys some swimsuits,” he concedes as the kids cheer. “But they might be weird and, like, President themed. Who knows.”

Kurapika chuckles behind his hand. Leorio catches his eye and gives him a tentative grin.

The kids are thrilled by the room. They dump their things everywhere and jump on the beds until Leorio orders them to stop before they break their necks. Kurapika paces around, touching the insides of the lampshades and running his hands underneath the desks and beds and chairs.

“Whatcha doin?” Leorio asks, coming up Kurapika as he pats down the air conditioner. “Trying to turn it on?”

“Checking for bugs,” Kurapika replies curtly, and Leorio frowns. 

“Oh. Bugs? It’s winter. And they probably spray the fuck—whoops, the uh, daylights,” he corrects himself quickly as Killua looks over in interest, “outta this place. It’s fancy. Don’t worry.”

Kurapika pauses his inspection of the thermostat unit to throw him a withering look.

“Bugs. Microphones. And cameras.” 

“Oh. You—you really think that’s necessary?” Leorio asks, and immediately regrets it. Clearly in Kurapika’s world, this was a reasonable precaution to take. “Sorry. Never mind.”

“That’s all right. Better safe than sorry,” Kurapika says, straightening up and dusting off his pants. “At any rate, the room is clean. The door is the best exit, but if need be, the window appears to open enough for all of us to escape out of as well.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that!” Leorio says with forced cheeriness, but Kurapika doesn’t seem to hear him.

* * *

To Leorio’s relief, the hotel gift shop sells swim suits, although his prediction about the available styles holds true. They all cluster in front of the counter as the cashier rings up three pairs of American flag-bedecked swim trunks for Leorio, Kurapika, and Killua, and a sparkly blue one piece for Alluka. 

“This is...for me to wear?” Kurapika asks disdainfully, poking at the lurid fabric as they walk back to the room. “I’m not sure I need to go swimming.”   
  
“Ah, c’mon, Kurapika,” Killia crows, racing ahead of the group. “Don’t be such a goody two shoes all the time!” 

Leorio doesn’t hide his snicker in time, and Kurapika huffs in mock indignation as Gon and Alluka laugh. 

“Hmf. Americans are so tacky,” Kurapika grumbles, but he’s hiding a grin. 

* * *

The hotel pool is on the rooftop, covered by a thick glass dome. It reminds Leorio of the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens. It’s so cold outside compared to the tropical heat within that the glass is clouded with steam. The golden sliver of a quarter moon is a hazy blur through the ceiling, and the glowing underwater lights suffuse the space with a dreamlike blue glow. 

They have the pool to themselves, which is good, because Gon and Killua immediately cannonball into the water with enormous splashes and begin frolicking like otters. As Kurapika dives into the deep end and begins a graceful backstroke, Alluka hangs back, sticking a toe into the shallow end and looking unsure. 

“Can you swim, honey?” Leorio asks as he slips into the pool. The water is pleasantly cool on his dry skin. 

“Um...” Alluka hums, eyeing the water anxiously. “I don’t know.” 

“That’s okay! Here, climb in here and I’ll help.” 

She hesitates as Leorio holds out his arms encouragingly. After a moment of consideration, she sits down and slides into the water. He catches her before her head goes under, and she makes a surprised noise.

”There! See? Not so bad, right?” 

She dunks her head backwards into the water before shaking like a dog, spraying Leorio with droplets. 

”Hey! Watch it!” 

”Now you’re all WET!” she shrieks in delight. “Your hair looks funny!”

”Uh, so does yours. You look like a seal,” Leorio tells her, and she laughs even harder as she snakes her wet arms around Leorio’s neck. 

As Gon and Killia continue to splash around, their cries echoing in the cavernous space, Kurapika paddles up beside Leorio and Alluka. 

“Here, Alluka. I’ll teach you how to swim,” he says, holding out an arm. “Hold on to me and kick.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Alluka says doubtfully, still clinging onto Leorio like a monkey. Her wet hair gets briefly tangled in his mouth, and he spits it out, gagging. “I’m not good at it.” 

“Well, how else can you learn? You have to learn somehow. I’ll help you.”

”Well...okay,” she says, still sounding unsure as she lets go of Leorio and grabs Kurapika’s outstretched arm. “Don’t get my head wet!”

Leorio watches, impressed, as Kurapika quickly teaches Alluka how to kick her feet and propel herself through the water. 

“Excellent! Now you try on your own,” Kurapika instructs. “Swim from me to the wall.” 

The first few times she tries to swim without help, her head goes under for several seconds before she resurfaces, spluttering. It makes Leorio extremely nervous, but Kurapika stays calm. By the third time, Leorio can’t hold back his panic. He tries to reach for her as she thrashes around.

“Kurapika! She can’t swim yet! Be careful!” 

“It’s okay. She needs to learn how to trust herself and float,” Kurapika replies, maddeningly unconcerned. “See? She’s fine.”

Sure enough, Alluka’s head pops up. She paddles the remainder of the distance to the wall, grinning at Kurapika as he swims over to meet her. While he lifts her out of the pool, she’s talking excitedly and spitting out water.   
  
“Did you see? I did it! All by myself! Leorio! Did you see?” 

“I did, I did,” he reassures her, his pulse retuning to its normal rate. “You did great! But that’s enough for right now. You’re tired.”

Kurapika smiles and gives her a pat on the knee. 

“You did wonderfully, Alluka.”   
  
Killua and Gon have gotten out of the pool now, and their footsteps slap against the concrete floor as they hurry over to Alluka.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could swim like that, sis!” Killua says. Alluka beams up at him.

“Hey, Leorio?” Gon asks, shaking his wet hair like a dog. “Are you hungry yet? Me and Killua are pretty hungry. If you guys wanna swim more we were thinking we could just go back to the room and eat those little candies and crackers they had in the fridge?” 

“Nah, I’m hungry too,” Leorio says, getting out of the pool and grabbing a towel. “Who wants room service?” 

The kids cheer and begin animatedly discussing their favorite foods as they traipse back to the room in their towels, dripping onto the hallway carpet.

* * *

Once everyone is showered and dressed in their pajamas, Leorio calls in an order of every kid-friendly thing on the menu, plus two beers for himself and Kurapika. It’s been a long day. 

The food arrives after twenty minutes, and the kids swarm it like vultures, cramming chicken nuggets and French fries into their mouths and getting crumbs all over the white bedspread. Leorio doesn’t have the energy to chastise them, and cracks open both beers, taking a long swig of his own and handing the other to Kurapika. 

“Cheers,” he says, clinking their bottles together as they sink onto the bed by the window. “You doing okay?” 

Kurapika takes a drink of his beer and looks away, appearing to think it over. Leorio grabs a plate of food away from the kids before they eat everything.

”Want some?” he asks, offering it to Kurapika. He bites into a salty chicken nugget and chews for a long time as Kurapika shakes his head, continuing to nurse his beer. 

”I’m all right. Thank you.”

”You sure? You barely ate anything today,” Leorio mumbles through his food. “You sure you’re feelin okay?” 

“Yes. I’m just—“ Kurapika says, stopping midway through his sentence with a pained expression. Leorio says nothing and gives his shoulder a squeeze, still chewing the rubbery chicken. 

Once the kids have inhaled every bite of food, Leorio clicks through the TV to find something for them to watch while they wind down. It’s almost 9 pm, and he wants the kids to go to bed before too long. Alluka is already yawning and rubbing her eyes, but Gon and Killua are still chattering and bouncing around. He settles on an old episode of The Price Is Right, which successfully enraptures all three of the kids after a few minutes. As they stare at the screen, open-mouthed, Leorio lowers his voice and leans toward Kurapika. 

”Wow. You were really good with Alluka in the pool!”

Kurapika smiles, looking caught off-guard.

“Do you really think so? I don’t have much experience with children.” 

”Yeah! Of course. Sorry I, uh, freaked out a bit.”

”That’s all right. It’s understandable.”

“No, you idiot!” Killua yelps, and they all jump and turn to look at him. He’s clapping a hand to his forehead dramatically as Gon and Alluka laugh. “There’s no way a Tupperware set would cost that much!” 

“Anyways,” Kurapika continues, draining his beer and putting the empty bottle on the bedside table, “it’s not a bad thing. You’re already very protective of her.”   
  
”Oh,” Leorio mutters, feeling slightly embarrassed at that, “well. I dunno. She’s just little, you know.” 

“I understand,” Kurapika replies seriously. “But, Leorio, you need to know that the Zoldycks are dangerous people.” 

He’s speaking very softly, but Leorio still glances to make sure that Killua isn’t listening. 

“How...how so?”

”Hmm,” Kurapika sighs, adjusting a pillow. “Well. I think...the best way to explain it is that...although they are not...affectionate, per se, towards their children, they’re very possessive. From what I’ve heard through my colleagues, at least. And they’re very adamant about their children carrying on the family business.” 

Leorio taps on the side of his bottle, frowning. 

”The family business? Which is...?”

Kurapika gives him an alarmed look.

”You don’t know?”

”No, I don’t know,” Leorio replies, slightly irritated. “Why would I know? I don’t run in your circles.” 

“Does a car really cost that much?” Gon wonders aloud as the show cuts to commercial break. Kurapika falls silent, giving Leorio a meaningful glance. 

Leorio is frustrated by the conversation, but the kids need to go to bed before it can continue. He stands up, yawning and stretching, and lopes over to turn the TV off with a zap of static.

”Okay, gang. Bed. Alluka, the cot is for you, hon. Gon, Killua, you guys take that bed. All right? I’ll leave the bathroom light on if you need to get up in the night.” 

“I’m not tired yet!” Gon pipes up, leaping up, but Leorio puts a hand on his shoulder and firmly leads him back to bed.

”You will be if you lie down and close your eyes. Come on. Everybody in bed.”

After five minutes of half-hearted complaining, the kids settle down and get in bed, and Leorio turns off the lights and climbs into the other bed with Kurapika. They’re both fully clothed and awkwardly far apart from one another. It reminds Leorio of that night in Tokyo last spring, when they shared a hotel bed for the first time. So much has changed since then.

”Well, goodnight, then,” Kurapika whispers stiffly, rolling away from Leorio.

”Night,” Leorio replies, praying that his sleeping body will behave itself. “Sleep tight.” 

As always, Kurapika seems to fall asleep almost instantly, his breathing turning slow and steady, but as the room fills with snuffling kid snores and mumbled sleep-talking, Leorio can’t fall asleep. He stares at the blinking red light of the smoke detector on the ceiling, trying to count the intervals between the flashes, and wonders what it is exactly that Killua’s family does.

He rolls over and tries to get more comfortable, but his mind fills with worries about his meeting at the museum tomorrow. What will the curator be like? Will Leorio be able to keep his cool? Would the eyes be real? Eventually, he grows drowsy.

Once he’s almost asleep, he jolts awake to see Alluka’s face two inches away from him, her eyes wide and frightened in the dark.

”Mmzat—Alluka. What’s wrong?” he mumbles, fumbling for his phone. “What is it?”

”I have to go pee,” she whispers loudly, looking frantic. 

”That’s fine, sweetheart. Go ahead,” he replies, rubbing the sand from his eyes.

”I’m scared. It’s too dark. I don’t want to walk there.” 

She blinks up at him stubbornly, and he sighs and gets out of bed. Kurapika makes a noise in his sleep and throws an arm over his face. 

“Okay. I’ll shine my phone light while you walk over there, all right?”

He turns on his phone flashlight and shines it on the floor as Alluka pads over to the bathroom and goes inside. Once she’s finished, he lights her path back to her cot and shines it until she’s back underneath the blankets. 

“Okay. Night night, Alluka,” he yawns, getting back in bed. It’s only 10:45, so he’ll still have plenty of time for a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.

* * *

By 7 am the next morning, Alluka has woken Leorio up five more times to go to the bathroom. He’s so tired over breakfast that he keeps nodding off into his bowl of oatmeal, and narrowly avoids getting a blob of jelly on the lapel of his nice blue suit that he’s wearing for his meeting with the curator later. He figures it can’t hurt to be dressed up. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that it never hurts to look richer than you are. 

The morning news plays at a low drone from a wall-mounted TV in the corner. The kids race around the breakfast area, piling more Fruit Loops and mini waffles onto styrofoam plates. 

Kurapika woke up before all of them to get coffee from a fancy espresso shop down the street. He pats Leorio on the arm and pushes a steaming macchiato towards him. 

“I can go get more if you need,” he says, and Leorio yawns through a thank you. “You looked like you needed it.” 

”What are we doing today, Leorio?” Gon says, shoveling a bite of waffle into his mouth. “Can we go to the Lincoln Log Memorial? Mito says it’s really big!”

”It’s the Lincoln Memorial, you dummy,” Killua says, swatting Gon with a newspaper. “Not Lincoln Log.” 

“It’s the same thing, Killua!” Gon says cheerfully. 

“Uh. Yeah. I think what we’ll do is walk to the Smithsonian, so we’ll walk right by it, Gon,” Leorio says, biting into a piece of toast. “And then you guys will go with Kurapika to look around the museum while I have my meeting, okay?”

”Can we go swimming again?” Alluka chirps. She’s smearing packets of grape jelly onto her empty plate. Leorio doesn’t have the energy to stop her. “I wanna practice!”

”Maybe. We’ll see,” Leorio yawns, and downs his coffee. “Okay. Everyone good? Got your coats? Nobody needs to pee? Let’s go!”

* * *

Leorio feels better and more awake as they walk out into the chilly morning air. They’re off to an early start, and the kids look cute bundled in their coats and pink-cheeked in the cold. Kurapika seems like he’s in a good mood too, and keeps pointing out the landmarks and boring the kids with historical facts. 

“Gon, Killua, do you know what this building is?”

Gon squints up at the towering marble building as they pass it. 

“Nope! It looks like a castle!” 

“It’s the library of Congress,” Kurapika says at once. “See, here’s the placard right here. It’s the oldest de facto cultural institution in the United States. It was founded by John Adams in 1800.”

“I think you’re losing your audience,” Leorio mutters as Gon and Killua become distracted by a bug on the sidewalk. Kurapika laughs, exasperated, and they continue on, their voices echoing down the avenue between the stately buildings. 

Leorio has never been to DC before, and he likes it so far. It’s completely different from New York; while Manhattan is dense and gritty and vertical, DC feels spacious and serene. None of the buildings here are taller than three stories, and there are neatly manicured gardens everywhere. Everything is brushed marble and elegantly crumbling brick. 

“Have you been here before?” Leorio asks Kurapika as the kids scramble ahead of them.

”A few times, yes, for business,” Kurapika replies, nodding. “It’s a nice place. I have several restaurant recommendations, if you need.” 

They round a corner, and Leorio laughs.

”Are they normal people restaurants, though? Am I allowed in if I’m not a VIP?” 

“Well,” Kurapika says, smiling, “a few of them, yes. Actually, I doubt I’d be allowed in to most of them now, too.”   
  
Leorio gives him a sidelong glance, but his face is impassive.

”Whaddya mean?”

”Well. I’m not sure that my status as an ex-employee would help,” Kurapika says lightly, and Leorio raises his eyebrows.

”Oh. So you’re not...working for...those people anymore?” 

”More or less.”

”More or less what? Yes or no?” Leorio presses. “You’re not?”

”I’ll explain more later,” Kurapika says with a tone of finality. “But yes. Things have changed. Look, there’s the memorial.” 

They’ve reached the edge of the reflecting pool that overlooks the Lincoln Memorial. They pause to admire the view for a moment, shivering in the damp air. 

“It’s more scenic in the sprint, when the cherry blossoms are blooming,” Kurapika explains, gesturing towards the bare-branched trees. “But still. It’s a nice place. It reminds me of parks in Japan.” 

“When’s the last time you went to Japan, Kurapika?” Gon asks, trotting beside Kurapika as they continue to walk towards the memorial. “Where did you go? My dad went to Osaka last month to work at a museum there!” 

“Ah, right. I saw Ging briefly.” 

They reach the stairs of the memorial and gaze up at it. Leorio sidles up next to Kurapika again, determined to get an answer as the kids climb the steps to get a closer look. 

”Hey. Stop dodging the question. Yes or no? Are you still working for the Nostrades?”

“Shh,” Kurapika hisses, glancing around. “Not so loud.” 

Leorio looks around, but the area is mostly deserted except for a portly security guard who looks half-awake, and a group of women in hijab pushing their babies in strollers.

”I think we’re okay. So? Yes or no?”

”Like I said, no,” he says irritably, flicking his bangs out of his face. “I’m starting my own company. Private security.” 

Leorio chews his lip and stares at him.

”Uh. Okay. You don’t want to just...like...”

”What?” Kurapika snaps, and Leorio shrugs. 

“I dunno. Don’t you want to, like...do something normal? A regular job? Or go to school?”

Kurapika scoffs.

”What would I possibly do in school?”

”Uh, lots of things,” Leorio says, stamping his feet on the ground to warm up. A nearby sparrow takes flight in alarm, its wings fluttering noisily in the still air. “You’re a smart guy. You could study anything you wanted.”

He’s trying to provoke Kurapika into a spirited response, but to his dismay Kurapika just sags and looks away, looking tired.

”I don’t even exist to the government, Leorio. How am I supposed to register for school? Or even apply for a normal job?” 

”Well. You could...uh...do online classes, or...”

He trails off, unable to formulate a good reply. Kurapika kicks a pebble and walks up the marble stairs to join the kids as Leorio hangs back, feeling guilty.

* * *

They get to the Smithsonian with an hour to spare before Leorio’s meeting. Kurapika remains distant, drifting several feet ahead of Leorio for their entire time inside the Ocean History wing. Leorio watches his silhouette disappear behind the skeleton of a narwhal.

The kids are all thrilled, darting around happily and peppering Kurapika with dozens of questions, all of which he answers promptly. The life-sized Portuguese man o’ war jellyfish is a particular hit, with all three kids clustering around it in awe as Kurapika spouts off jellyfish factoids. 

With fifteen minutes to spare, Leorio decides to head to the meeting early. He’s fascinated by the exhibits, but he’s too apprehensive to pay much attention to anything right now. 

“Okay. So we’ll meet by the big elephant in the front once I text you that I’m done, right? Hopefully it shouldn’t take long,” he calls over the soft chatter of the crowd. “You guys are cool until then?”

The kids are already wandering towards the butterfly exhibit, but before Kurapika turns to follow them, Leorio grabs his arm, and he looks up, startled.

”Hey. I’m sorry that...this is what it is,” Leorio says quietly, squeezing his arm. “I know you’re stressed. Are you okay?”

Kurapika softens, and meets Leorio’s eyes with a sigh.

”Yes. I’m sorry for being short with you. Thank you again. For what you’re doing here.”

”No problem. So...just let me know if you need anything? Good luck with them. If you run out of museum, you can feed them. I’ll Venmo you.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Kurapika says with a faint smile, and pulls away from Leorio. “Good luck, then.”

Leorio exhales a long breath and watches Kurapika walk back to join the kids. Gon grabs him by the arm at once and pulls him towards the butterfly exhibit as Killua and Alluka launch into conversation. 

Once they vanish into the milling crowds of museum-goers, Leorio walks down a hallway off of the main hall toward the administrative office, where he’s supposed to be meeting the curator. His footsteps clack against the tiled floor. When he reaches the office door, he pauses, his heart beating hard beneath his dress shirt. Prickly sweat breaks out under his arms, and he tries to subtly ventilate the dampness by flapping his blazer back and forth a few times. 

He feels suddenly nervous and ill-equipped for the task at hand. If Kurapika, with his underworld savvy and years of experience, couldn’t manage to recover this pair of eyes, why was Leorio so confident that he could do anything about it? He may be biting off more than he can chew. 

Still. He here’s now, and somewhere in this building is another pair of eyes that have been stolen, one way or another, from Kurapika’s family. The least Leorio can do is investigate the situation.

Steeling himself, he straightens his tie and knocks three times on the office door. 


	8. far far away

A dour-faced old man opens the office door for Leorio and peers up at him through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“This office is for employees only. May I help you?” 

“Yes, hello,” Leorio says quickly, extending a hand as the man gives him a dubious frown, “um, are you Mister...Howard?” he continues, realizing with embarrassment that doesn’t know the guy’s last name. “Sorry. I’m Leorio Paladiknight? Dr. Cheadle arranged our meeting?” 

The man grimaces and checks something on a clipboard pinned to the door. The small room behind him holds a messy desk covered in loose papers and dusty boxes, an aquarium tank filled with brightly colored frogs, and half of what appears to be a human skeleton. 

“Paradino? I’m sorry, I don’t seem to have anyone listed for that. Who sent you?”

Leorio starts to sweat underneath his shirt collar.

”Ah. Did you speak to Doctor Cheadle? I think she—“

”Charles! Stop terrorizing this young fellow,” a cheerful voice calls, and Leorio turns to see a smiling man striding towards the office from the main lobby. “You must be Leorio. He’s got a meeting with me, Charles. Let him in. Leorio, I’m Howard. Good to meet you!”

Howard comes to a stop in front of the office door and extends a hand, still smiling brightly. Leorio inwardly sighs with relief.

”My apologies, Howard,” Charles says, retreating from the door with a wave of his hand. He totters back to the desk and pulls out a sheath of papers. “Carry on.” 

“Here, Leorio, walk with me,” Howard says, pulling on Leorio’s sleeve in a disarmingly childlike way. “Storage is this way. How was your trip down? Cheadle’s told me all about you. Thanks for coming today!”  
  
“Oh! Good stuff, I hope,” Leorio says with a courtesy laugh. “The trip was fine, thanks. I just hope I can get the notes that Cheadle needs.”

 _And the information that I need_ , he thinks but does not say. 

They walk down another hallway, deeper into the administrative wing of the museum. When Leorio sneaks a sidelong glance at Howard, he’s caught off guard by his disheveled brown hair and threadbare sweater. He looks much more like an adjunct professor than a elite museum curator. 

“Charles just gets cranky because sometimes people try to sneak in and look at the storage,” he continues in a stage whisper, dragging Leorio down another corner. “Last week we had a kid pretending to be a on field trip who made it all the way to the mammoth tusk storage.” 

“Does that happen often?” Leorio asks, slightly out of breath. Howard is taller than him, and walks in long loping strides. “People breaking in?”

“Hmm?” Howard hums, stopping in front of an unmarked door at the end of the hallway and patting down his pockets. “I hope not! We pay the security guys enough. I think! Damn. Did I lose the key again?”

Leorio tries to keep a neutral face, but he’s taken aback. This was the high-level security system that Kurapika had warned him against?

”There’s the fucker!” Howard exclaims, fishing a key out of his jacket inseam. “Guess I need to stitch up that hole. Okay, right through here.”

They walk through the doorway into another dim corridor. Leorio is trying to keep track of where they’re going, but he’s lost his sense of direction. The next door has a number keypad lock, and Leorio can’t make out the combination. The heavy door opens with a whoosh of pressurized air, and they step into a dark room.

When Howard flicks on the fluorescent overhead lights, Leorio looks up in awe at rows of towering floor-to-ceiling shelving. Every inch of the room is packed with boxes.

”Voila!” Howard says happily, gesturing around at the clutter. “Sorry it’s a mess. We haven’t been able to vacuum for a while.” A cloud of dust rises from a nearby desk, and he sneezes. “Bleh. Sorry. If you need Claritin or something, let me know.”

”Oh. That’s okay. So...” Leorio trails off, unsure of how to begin. “Cheadle mentioned to you that I’d like to see the Kurtan eyes, I believe. Is that all right?”

”Yes, yes. They’re in the back. I’ll go fetch them and make some space for you to check them out.”

Still sniffling, Howard disappears into the endless rows of shelves. From the other side of the room, Leorio hears him clanking around and muttering to himself. 

As Leorio waits, he tries to figure out if there are any security cameras in the room. He can’t see any, but they could be hidden well. Kurapika was better at this kind of stuff. Quietly, he runs his hands underneath a rickety table to check for bugs, but only succeeds in covering his fingers with a thick layer of cobwebs. He wipes his hands on his suit pants as Howard clatters back with a large box in his arms. 

“Here we go,” Howard says, gingerly placing the box on the table before stepping back and dusting off his hands. “Is this going to be all right? You don’t need to actually take them out of the formaldehyde to examine them, do you?” 

Cheadle had prepared Leorio for this, so he’s not surprised. Granted, it will be more challenging to accurately examine them in their jars, but he’ll do his best.

”No, that’s all right. Thank you. Should I...?” he starts, taking a tentative step forward. 

“Yes, all yours,” Howard says with another bright smile. “I trust you. I might go poke around and sort some things out while you examine them, if that’s all right.” 

”Not a problem. I’ll...I’ll just get started, then,” Leorio says, faking a smile as Howard strides back into the shelves. “Thanks.” 

The glaring fluorescent lighting and the weird airlessness of the room make him suddenly lightheaded. As he remembers what’s inside the box, he fights back a wave of nausea. He takes a few deep breaths before reaching inside, feeling just as uneasy and heartsick as he did last spring in Tokyo at the auction house.

With utmost care, he lifts the jar out of the box. The glinting red eyes stare up at him, and he has to physically keep himself from crying out. From the shelves, Howard is whistling a jazzy melody. It’s almost too much. He closes his eyes and waits for it to pass. 

Still, he’s there to do a job. Biting his cheek, he pulls out his professional-grade magnifying glasses and a pen light from his briefcase, and sets to work inspecting the eyes. He snaps pictures from every angle, and takes careful notes in his phone. 

One semester of medical school has already made him a far better scientist. He’s able to notice minute gradations of color and texture that he would have never spotted before, and he can identify several physiological and structural markers in the eyes that could potentially help Cheadle with a myriad of research topics.

Whoever this was had suffered from astigmatism, and their pupils dilated asymmetrically. They must have been prone to headaches. He thinks of how Kurapika sometimes squints when he’s reading, and makes a note to remind him to get glasses. Leorio almost smiles, imagining Kurapika scowling behind a pair of glasses. 

When he looks back down at the eyes, he’s overcome with a fresh wave of grief and anger. This was _wrong_. These shouldn’t be here.   
  
Howard is still whistling to himself back in the shelves. Leorio’s pulse increases as wild ideas flash through his mind. He could grab the eyes and hide them in his coat...he could make a dash for it while Howard was still back there...he could probably take Howard in a fight...

But if he gets caught today, there’s no hope of Kurapika getting the eyes back. He sighs and finishes his notes for Cheadle before lifting the eyes gently back into their box, letting his hand rest on the cool glass for a moment. 

_Whoever you were, I’m sorry. I’ll do what I can._

“Not an easy thing, I know,” Howard says gravely, reappearing in front of Leorio and making him jump. Feeling guilty, he retracts his hand from the glass. “We’ve been struggling with the idea of it as well. But with the way things happened, we feel like it’s the right thing to do, to put them on display. So people can learn.” 

“I...I guess,” Leorio says vaguely, unable to meet Howard’s friendly gaze. “Anyways, thank you for letting me examine them. It will be helpful for the...for the book.” 

The room feels unbearably claustrophobic. He wants to bolt to the exit and breathe fresh air, and tries not to fidget as Howard bustles around with more boxes.   
  
“Forgive me,” he calls back to Leorio. “Just need to put this mastodon tooth back.” 

Finally he’s finished, and Leorio follows him back out of the maze of corridors and hallways until they’re standing in the cavernous main lobby once more. 

“So! Cheadle tells me you’re taking me to dinner tonight?” Howard asks with a grin. “Where would you like to go?”

Leorio blinks. He had forgotten, and tries to hide it. 

“Ah! Yes. That’s right. Um. Do you like...um...”

”You’re new in town, aren’t you?” Howard asks kindly, pulling out his phone. “Here. I’ll text you some places and we can decide later. Sound good?” 

“Oh, sure. Thank you. How’s 7?” Leorio asks, taking Howard’s proffered cell phone and typing in his number. It’s an old Blackberry with a battered keyboard. 

“Perfect!” Howard beams. “Well, sorry, but I should run! I have to pick my daughter up from daycare. Great to meet you, Leorio! Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

With that, he waves goodbye and hurries away. His messy hair flaps in the breeze coming in from the lobby doors.

Leorio watches him go for several minutes, feeling uneasy. Howard certainly didn’t seem like an evil person, and yet he was responsible for putting the eyes of Kurapika’s family on display. 

Didn’t that make him culpable? Didn’t that make him just as bad as the black market flesh collectors? Leorio knows that Kurapika will ask about it, and has no idea what to tell him.

Then again, Kurapika has probably met dozens of Howards. There were plenty of nice people who did awful things. Maybe Leorio was just too trusting.

* * *

He ducks into an empty bathroom to splash cold water on his face and wash the cobwebs from his hands. He leans his forehead against the cool marble wall of the hallway for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts. 

Once he’s feeling less shaky, he meets back up with Kurapika and the kids in the museum food court. 

”Leorio! How’d it go?” Gon cries, elbow-deep in a plate of French fries. Beside him, Killua and Alluka are drawing pictures in ketchup on their paper plates. “We missed you!”

”Hey, guys. How was the rest of the museum?” Leorio asks, slumping into a chair next to Kurapika, who’s doing a crossword puzzle in the Washington Post.

”All the butterflies swarmed Killua for some reason and he freaked out,” Alluka informs Leorio gleefully as Killua’s ears turn red. “He was screaming like a girl!”

”Was not,” Killua growls, “and besides, you’d freak out too, they were climbing in my ears and hair and stuff and all the employees were freaking out telling me not to swat them. You wouldn’t like it either!” 

“Wait, what happened?” Leorio mutters to Kurapika, who suppresses a grin as he leans closer to Leorio. The kids erupt into noisy bickering. 

“It was very strange. We went into the exhibit and the butterflies really did flock to him. They covered every inch of his skin. Obviously they’re all worth a lot of money, so the staff had to remove them all very gently with a tiny fan. It was quite something.” 

Leorio laughs and swats Killua on the arm.

“It’s all the sugar you eat. They think you taste like a flower.” 

“Like a _girly_ flower!” Alluka screeches, and Killua throws a French fry at her. It misses and lands in the floor with a ketchup splatter. Several families stare at them in alarm. 

“Well, that’s our cue to take these wild beasts back outside,” Leorio says, standing up. Kurapika nods in fervent agreement. “Cut it out, guys. Sorry, museum people. Nothing to see here. Go back to eating dino nuggets.” 

* * *

It’s warmer outside as they walk back to the hotel. The kids frolic ahead of Kurapika and Leorio. The sun is shining on the bare branches of the cherry trees, and the marble monuments are gleaming white in the bright daylight. Leorio is starting to feel gritty-eyed with fatigue, and thinks longingly of the hotel bed. 

“How did it go, then?” Kurapika asks very quietly, not meeting Leorio’s eyes as they walk. “Were they...are you sure they were real?”

”Yes. I took pictures, if you want to see.” He pauses, wincing at his phrasing. “I mean. Sorry, that sounded...I mean, if you want to confirm...anything.” 

Kurapika deliberates for a moment, staring off into space. 

“When we’re back at the hotel, then... I would like to confirm.” 

“Of course.” 

They cross a large grassy park. Alluka grows tired and begs Killua for a piggyback ride. 

“You’re too heavy for this,” Killua groans, shouldering Alluka’s small form. She giggles in delight. 

“Go faster, horsey!” 

“I can carry you, Alluka,” Gon pipes up, jogging besides Killua. “You’re not too heavy for me!”

When Leorio looks over at Kurapika, he’s surprised to see him smiling at the kids. The knot of tension in his stomach loosens.

“Did they drive you nuts?” he asks, and Kurapika looks genuinely surprised.   
  
“Oh. No. Not at all. It was wonderful. They asked so many questions.” 

“They know how to get on your good side,” Leorio teases, giving Kurapika a nudge with his shoulder as they walk. He’s rewarded with Kurapika’s blushing grin. 

“Well. I just...I wish I could have gone to a museum like that as a kid,” Kurapika murmurs, and he looks so wistful that’s Leorio feels guilty for poking fun at him. “I would have loved it.” 

* * *

Everyone’s tired when they get back to the hotel. Leorio gives Kurapika his phone to go through the photographs of the eyes, and slips out while Leorio plays cards with the kids. They sit on the bed and snack on leftover chicken nuggets from last night’s room service.

Alluka is too young to fully grasp the rules of the game, and gets frustrated quickly by Killua and Gon’s intense competitiveness. 

“Not fair,” she cries after their third game, throwing her cards down on the bedspread. “Leorio, Killua won again!”   
  
“Sorry, kiddo. You’ll get it soon. Hey, why don’t you guys try to take a nap?” 

“Can we go swimming?” Gon asks hopefully, edging towards his damp swim trunks hanging from the lampshade. “I bet nobody’s down there right now!”

”Not right now. Let’s all just take a little nap,” Leorio asks, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. He’s exhausted, and he still has to meet Howard for dinner later. “Let’s make a deal. Everybody lie down for 45 minutes and then you can swim later? Please?” 

He crosses his fingers as he says it, hoping that Kurapika is up for another pool session. The kids, fortunately, take Leorio up on the offer and lie down. Before long, they’re all asleep. 

Leorio falls into a fitful doze, weaving in and out of vivid half-dreams about the museum storeroom and the glowing red eyes.

At one point in his dream he’s standing on a cliff overlooking a deep pool of black water. He looks down into the depths and sees Alluka struggling through the water, clawing and splashing her way up to the surface, and suddenly he feels that he’s drowning too. 

* * *

He wakes up with a sputtering gasp to see Kurapika perched on the side of the bed next to him. The sky through the windows has faded to periwinkle twilight. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Kurapika whispers, handing Leorio back his phone. “Good job with this, by the way,” he says with a nod towards the snoring kids.   
  
“Mmf. Thanks,” Leorio says, blinking back to reality. He’s groggy and cotton-mouthed from his nap. “What time is it?” 

“Almost 6. I suppose you should get ready.”

”Ugh. Shit. Yeah.” As he pulls back the covers, he turns to Kurapika. “So...were the photos...?

Kurapika nods grimly. 

“Yes. As far as I can tell, they’re real. I don’t know who it was.” 

Leorio doesn’t know how to reply, and merely stares at Kurapika for a moment. Kurapika gives him a tight smile. 

“Thank you for going. I mean that.”

”Oh. I mean...”

”You should go get ready,” Kurapika says with a tone of finality, giving Leorio a pat on the arm. “You’ll be late.” 

”Ah. Right.”

Leorio hurries into the bathroom and starts a hot shower, hoping that it’ll clear his head and wake him up. The small room fills with steam. It feels good against his puffy face. 

He hears Gon and Killua’s voices through the wall; they’re pleading with Kurapika to go swimming. Leorio smiles as he washes his hair with the flowery hotel shampoo. Kurapika was a good sport. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Leorio is dressed in his suit again and getting ready to leave. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks Kurapika for the third time, checking his hair in the mirror and straightening his glasses. “I’ll keep my phone turned up loud if you need anything. Don’t be afraid to call. And I texted you Mito’s number, too, just in case, and—“

“It will be fine,” Kurapika cuts him off from his perch on the bed, idly thumbing through a tourist magazine. “You should go. It’s almost a quarter till.”

“Shoot. Okay, see you guys later!”

“See ya,” Gon chirps as Killua waves goodbye from the floor. Leorio grabs his coat and hurries out the door, patting his pockets for his phone and wallet.

* * *

He’s meeting Howard at an upscale Italian place in Capitol Hill. The restaurant is fancy, all brushed marble and dark wood and elegant indoor plants. Soft classical music plays in the background, and there’s nothing under $30 on the menu. As Leorio takes his seat at their reserved table in the corner, he worries that he’ll use the wrong fork or spill his drink or do something else embarrassing. 

He realizes that he’s wadded his linen napkin into a sweaty ball in his fist, and hides it under the table. Thirty seconds later, a pretty brunette waitress arrives with a fresh napkin and a basket of warm bread. Leorio sits on his hands to keep himself from fidgeting. 

After another five minutes, Howard arrives, looking just as disheveled and friendly as before. His maroon corduroy shirt is buttoned up wrong, giving him a rakish, discombobulated look, and his thinning brown hair is standing on end. He’s carrying a thick stack of documents, and when he sits down and drops the pile onto the table, the top pages fall onto the floor. Leorio hurries to retrieve them.

“Leorio,” Howard sighs, squinting and rubbing his temples, “my sincere apologies. I was listening to a podcast on the train and forgot to get off at the right stop. Have you ordered yet?”

“No, no,” Leorio reassures him, pouring him a glass of water from the icy carafe on the table. “No worries.” 

“Excellent! The pasta is great here. Are you a red wine guy?”

“Ah,” Leorio starts, weighing the risks and benefits of drinking with Howard. It could be good to foster trust, although he might get too loose-lipped and say something about Kurapika. He hesitates for a beat too long, but Howard is immersed in the menu and doesn’t notice. “If that’s...is that...what you’d like to do?”

“Sure,” Howard says amiably, setting down his menu. “It’s nice in the winter.”

The pretty waitress comes back and takes their orders (a bottle of expensive red wine, mushroom tagliatelle for Howard, and spaghetti for Leorio), and Howard rolls up his sleeves and leans his elbows on the table, giving Leorio a warm smile.

“So! Tell me more about this book you two are writing. Cheadle hasn’t told me much yet. She’s very grateful that you were able to come visit, by the way.”

“Oh, good,” Leorio says, taking a long sip of ice water. “Well, I mean. It’s all Cheadle’s project, obviously, and I’m just helping. I don’t know all of the details yet, but from what I understand, she’s cataloguing several different under-researched rare physical conditions, discussing their pathologies, and exploring the different social repercussions faced by individuals with the feature.”

“Wonderful!” Howard says with real enthusiasm. “And you’re only in your first year, right? That’s excellent to get started with a big research project early.”

“Oh! Thank you. It’s been a good learning experience,” Leorio nods. “Really interesting stuff.” 

He’s still unsettled by how nice and normal Howard seems. It’s going to make this all much harder. His stomach lurches with anxiety, and he looks at the floor.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to so far,” Howard continues, picking up a bread roll and covering it with a thick layer of soft butter. “I love hearing about other people’s research! It makes me feel better about slacking on my own.”

Leorio laughs and selects a piece of rye bread from the basket.

“Well, so far a lot of her work has been focused on albinism. From a medical standpoint, we’ve been looking at any possible genetic co-morbidities that may have been missed in previous genetic sequencing.” He pauses to take a bite of bread before continuing, holding a hand over his mouth as he chews. “And Cheadle wants to get some anthropologists and sociologists on board, too, to study the ways in which albinism is both revered and shunned in different societies. That part of the project is taking on a life of its own.”

“Right, right! The accusations of witchcraft and such. Which, I guess, segues right into the study of the Kurtan eyes,” Howard sighs, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’re aware of the horrible history of discrimination that the Kurtans experienced from the outside world even before the 2011 massacre.”

“Yes,” Leorio replies, keeping his face neutral as his heart pounds. “That will be part of our work. And, if I understand correctly, part of the upcoming exhibition that you’re working on as well.”

As Howard opens his mouth to reply, the waitress appears with their steaming plates of pasta and the bottle of wine. 

“Oh! Thank you,” Howard says, clapping his hands together. “Leorio, would you like to try the wine?”

That’s a little confusing, because the waitress is already standing there with the uncorked bottle. Were you supposed to pretend that you weren’t sure if you wanted it? Leorio starts to sweat underneath his dress shirt.

“Well, never mind,” Howard continues with a breezy wave of his hand. “Looks good!”

“Very good, sir,” the waitress purrs, and pours them each a sizable serving of wine. She flashes Leorio a demure smile. When Leorio smiles back, she turns a deep shade of magenta before scurrying away.

“I think you may have made a friend,” Howard mutters, grinning, once the waitress is out of earshot. “But that must happen to you a lot!” 

“Um,” Leorio says, feeling his ears go hot. “Sometimes, I guess. How’s the wine?”

They both take a sip, and Leorio rolls it around in his mouth experimentally for a moment. It’s definitely much better than anything he’s ever had; the flavor is clean and peppery and rich.

“Great! Love a good Cabernet in the winter. Bon appetit!” Howard says, and attacks his food with gusto.

They eat in silence for several minutes. Leorio watches as a fleck of cheese flies off of Howard’s fork and sticks to his corduroy shirt. The spaghetti is delicious, but Leorio is too nervous to be hungry. Out of decorum, he plows through his food until his plate is half-empty. The wine is already going to his head, and he’s growing impatient to continue talking. He puts down his fork and waits for Howard to finish eating.

“Not feeling well?” Howard asks through a mouthful of food, looking concerned. “Do you want a box?”

“That’s all right! Thank you. I just ate a late lunch,” Leorio lies. “Actually, I...I wanted to pick up where we left off with the new exhibit. It would...” he pauses, carefully choosing his words, “it would be helpful for Cheadle to have an idea of the tone that the Smithsonian will take regarding the Scarlet Eyes going forward. I’m sure you’re aware that this exhibit will be seen as highly controversial by many.”

“Well, of course,” Howard says, suddenly serious. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leans forward, lowering his voice. “And I hope that you, and the general public, will understand that we’ve been trying to approach this exhibit with the greatest sensitivity possible. This is not an easy thing to do, by any means, but I do feel strongly that bringing greater public awareness to the Kurtans is important. So many people don’t even know that this beautiful culture existed at all. At the very least, I want to honor their memories.”

If Howard is acting, he’s doing a very good job of it. He seems truly distressed. Leorio chews on the inside of his cheek, and decides to ask harder questions. 

“Then...if you don’t mind me asking, how exactly is the museum going to do that? From an ethical standpoint, that is?”

“An important question,” Howard agrees, draining his wine glass. “Which is why we’re working hand in hand with the museum’s repatriation office. Normally, they deal with returning human remains and ceremonial tribal objects that have come into the museum’s care back to their rightful owners. Or, in some cases, they may negotiate a respectful and culturally appropriate way to display the items or remains that’s approved by descendants or survivors. We feel it’s our duty as a museum to honor the wishes of everyone involved.”

Leorio finishes his own wine and pours them both a second glass. His pulse is racing, but he needs to stay cool and keep Howard talking.

“I see. But...how is that possible in a case like this? Aren’t you worried that you’ll be accused of exploiting the tragedy? Of profiting off of murder? Surely there have been criticisms raised about that already?” He stops himself and takes a deep breath. It’s hard not to get upset. He grabs his napkin and starts wadding it up in his lap again. “Sorry. I’m not trying to yell at you, it’s just that I’ve...been learning a lot about the Kurtans recently for...my work, and...”

“Oh, I get it! Of course,” Howard interjects, nodding emphatically. “I completely agree. And I would be saying everything that you’re saying now. But that’s why it’s been so interesting to work with Mariko. We’ve asked her multiple times if this is truly what she wants, and arranged for her meet with a therapist, but—“

“Wait, who?” Leorio interrupts. “Sorry. With who?” 

Howard blinks at him, looking surprised.

“Oh. Did Cheadle not tell you? My apologies. Mariko is the woman who donated the eyes. I think the story is coming out publicly tomorrow, actually.”

“The collector from Berlin, you mean?” Leorio asks. “The flesh collector?”

“What? No, no. Mariko is a survivor of the 2011 massacre. She contacted us about six months ago, and we’ve been working with her since then.”

Leorio freezes, his heart pounding in his throat.

Could that even be possible? Another survivor?

“I...had no idea that there were...any survivors. You’re sure?”

“Well, we were curious too, but she actually offered to have a DNA test done. We had our chief biologist extract a sample from the eyes and run it through a gel electrophoresis machine, and, well, you’ll see for yourself. Hang on, I might have it with me.”

He rifles through the stack of papers and pulls out a page of blurry lab imaging results.

“The Kurtan eye sample is on the left, there, and hers is on the right,” he says, pointing at the columns.

Leorio takes the paper and pushes his glasses up his nose to see better in the dimly lit restaurant. Sure enough, the chromosome bands are a near-perfect match.

He stares down at it in amazement. If this was real, it was possible that she was a relative or friend of Kurapika’s. Where was she now? What was her story?

“How old is she?” Leorio asks, handing back the results. “Where does she live?”

“She’s outside of Montréal,” Howard says, reshuffling his pile of papers, “and she’s in her mid-fifties, but other than that, I don’t know much about her. The repatriation office has been working much more closely with her to learn about her life story, outline a structure for the exhibit narrative, and decide how to best display the eyes.” 

“And she really wants the eyes displayed for everyone to see?” Leorio asks in disbelief. “She doesn’t want to just have them for herself?”

Howard fixes him a thoughtful gaze, and Leorio starts to worry that he’s revealed too much. 

“Your guess is as good as mine. But, you know, when someone in her situation comes to us and asks us to share the story of what happened to her people, we feel that it’s our responsibility.”

“Of course,” Leorio says, and he actually would agree were it not for the fact that Kurapika was risking his entire life to do the exact opposite of what Howard is describing. “I get that, for sure. But still. I wonder...”

“As far as profiting off of and potentially exploiting the tragedy goes, I feel similarly to you. But Mariko insists that she wants the world to know what happened, and that the best way to gain the public’s attention is to shock them,” Howard says. “And I’m enough of a realist to know that most people don’t pay attention to tragedies unless their morbid curiosity is triggered. As much as I wish it weren’t the case, I think she’s right.”

Leorio can’t argue with that. He feels a headache coming on as the waitress comes around with their check. Howard tries to pay, but Leorio whips out his credit card with a flourish and insists on covering the bill, thanks for Cheadle’s generous per diem allowance.

“Are you sure?” Howard says, gathering up his papers and coat. “Thank you. Listen, I hope I didn’t offend you with anything I said. I know that it’s a very tricky topic, and I promise you that we really are trying to go about this the right way.” 

They leave the restaurant together and walk out into the freezing night air.

“If Mariko is willing, would you want to interview her for the book?” Howard continues, shivering in his threadbare blazer. “She takes a while to reply to things, but she’s very open. It would probably be a valuable addition to the work you guys are going.”

“That would be fantastic,” Leorio says, and Howard smiles and extends his hand. Leorio gives it a firm shake. “Thank you. And thank you so much for all of your help today.”

“My pleasure. You’ll have to come back when the exhibit is finished, too. And bring Cheadle.” 

“Will do. Are you taking the train home?”

“No, I’ll walk,” Howard says. “Well, take care!”

He raises a hand in farewell before turning to walk down the sidewalk. Leorio watches him go for a moment before hailing a passing cab and hopping inside, lost in thought.

As the cab glides down the empty avenues, Leorio leans his head against the cold windowpane. He feels even more confused with this new information. 

If Mariko is truly another surviving Kurta, then Kurapika needed to meet her and speak to her as soon as possible. Her existence could change everything.

For Kurapika’s sake, Leorio hopes that Mariko is who she says she is, but it’s not hard to imagine why someone might pretend to be the last surviving Kurta. They could be a flesh collector trying to get rid of their incriminating possessions without punishment, or they could be delusional, or suffering from a mental illness, or lying for attention.

The DNA match was accurate, to be sure, but without investigating it further, Leorio’s not entirely convinced. He sighs and slumps down farther in the backseat.

* * *

After bidding his cab driver goodnight, Leorioquickly walks inside the hotel lobby. It’s empty except for the sleepy front desk clerk, who’s eating a bag of potato chips and watching YouTube on his phone. Leorio gives him a nod and hurries towards the elevator, shivering after the frigid air outside.  


He’s still buzzing with adrenaline from the conversation with Howard, and isn’t sure how to break the news to Kurapika. It will be a shock. He closes his eyes and leans against the smooth wooden wall of the elevator as it ascends. His head aches from the red wine.

When the elevator doors open with a ding at his floor, Leorio is surprised to see Kurapika standing before him, looking tired and grave. His bangs are frizzy like he’s been running his fingers through them.

“Oh! Hi. You okay?” Leorio asks, edging past Kurapika into the hallway. “Are the kids okay?”

“They’re fine,” Kurapika answers in a hoarse voice as they walk towards the room. “We went swimming again, which wore them out. Alluka took a while to wind down, but Gon and Killua fell asleep a while ago.”

“Cool. Thanks so much for staying here with them.” 

They come to a halt in front of their door.

“We should talk before we go to bed,” Leorio says, lowering his voice. “I want you to hear this from me, and not read it online. Okay?”

Kurapika nods, and Leorio glances around the dimly lit hallway before continuing.

“Do you want to walk around or sit down somewhere while we talk, or...?”

“This is fine,” Kurapika says quietly. “Please go on.” 

His voice is calm, but a muscle is jumping in his jaw. He must be clenching his teeth. Leorio nods and takes a breath.

“Okay. So...you might already know about this. So just stop me if this is old news to you.”

“I will.”

“All right. I’ll tell you more about everything tomorrow, but the thing I need to tell you right now is that these are not the eyes from the Berlin collector.”

As Leorio pauses for air, a faint crease appears between Kurapika’s eyebrows. 

“That can’t be right,” he mutters, more to himself than to Leorio. “That can’t be...that’s not true. I’ve been tracking all of the purchases for months. Where did they claim to purchase them, then?”

“So what Howard told me, and again, this could be wrong,” Leorio continues, trying to keep his voice level even as Kurapika’s face darkens, “was that these eyes were donated by someone who claims to be a living Kurtan descendant. A woman named Mariko, in her fifties. Living in Montreal.”

“An imposter, then,” Kurapika replies at once. “There are no other survivors. Just someone looking for attention and a cash grab. It’s happened before.”

“I’m sure, but the museum committee thought the same thing as you. They tested her DNA samples with the eyes, and they matched. Unless she was somehow able to fake a DNA test...she’s Kurtan.”

“No,” Kurapika says, shaking his head, “it’s not true. She must have manipulated the test somehow. I knew every single Kurtan in the village. There was no Mariko. They are all dead. I don’t have time to verify the identities of scammers and frauds. It is an insult to the memory of my brethren. It’s not true.”

His voice has turned to a strangled hiss, and he’s clenching his fists and glaring at the carpet. Leorio takes a placating step toward him and touches his elbow gently. He’d expected this reaction.

“I know this is a lot to take in. We don’t know all of the details, and—“

“Leave me alone,” Kurapika snaps, jerking away from Leorio’s touch. “Don’t touch me.”

Leorio watches resignedly as Kurapika stalks down the hallway and disappears into the fire escape. His footsteps echo from the metal stairwell.

As much as Leorio wants to follow him, he knows that he should let him go. He decides that if Kurapika’s not back in an hour, he’ll go find him.

Exhaling, he runs a hand through his hair and opens the hotel room door with his key card. He quietly steps inside without turning on the light.

Gon and Killua are both fast asleep and sprawled across the double bed by the window, but Alluka is sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched in front of her glowing tablet screen. She’s wearing earbuds and watching something colorful and animated. Leorio kicks off his loafers and crouches down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder so he doesn’t startle her.

“Hey,” he whispers, reaching over to hit pause on the video. “It’s pretty late. You need to go to sleep, kiddo.”

She blinks dazedly up at him, fidgeting with her earbud wires.

“I’m not tired,” she yawns, and presses play again. “I’m not sleepy yet. Let me watch one more.”

“Nope,” Leorio murmurs, disentangling her earbuds and picking up the tablet. “You’ll be really tired tomorrow. Come on.”

He tries to pull the tablet from her grasp, but she yanks it out of his hands, scowling.

“No! I’m not sleepy !”

Leorio sighs. He doesn’t want to make her upset, but it’s past midnight and she’s five years old and exhausted, and he’s tired and stressed and so worried for Kurapika that he feels sick. He kneels down again.

“Alluka. Come on, sweetheart. You can’t stay up all night. Tomorrow you can watch more.”

“Nooooo,” she wails, curling into a ball and holding the tablet against her chest. “Go away!” 

Her voice grows shrill, and Killua mumbles in his sleep and rolls over. Leorio winces. He doesn’t want all of the kids to wake up again. Time for a different tactic.

“Okay. How about you come watch your show in the big bed up there? It’s gross on the carpet,” he suggests, making a face and patting the rug. “Right? It’s more comfortable in the real bed. How’s that?”

Alluka eyes him suspiciously. 

“The big bed? I don’t have to go in the cot?”

“Nope. Trust me, it’s really comfy. Wanna give it a try?”

Leorio holds his breath. After another moment of deliberation, Alluka gets to her feet and climbs into the empty queen bed, her tablet in tow. She still looks unconvinced, but allows Leorio to tuck her in underneath the heavy comforter. 

As she becomes engrossed in the cartoon again, Leorio perches on the end of the bed, yawning and scrolling through the New York Times on his phone. As he scans the headlines, it occurs to him to set Google alerts for anything eye-related, and he spends five minutes setting email alerts for any articles containing the words Kurta, Kurtan eyes, Scarlet Eyes, Smithsonian Kurtan exhibit, and Kurtan survivor. There’s bound to be media buzz during the coming days and weeks as the museum unveils the exhibit, and he wants to be aware of any potentially disturbing articles before Kurapika sees them.

He tries to listen for Kurapika’s footsteps in the hall, but only hears the quiet hum of traffic from the street and the occasional distant siren. Someone is smoking a cigarette from their balcony. The smell reminds him suddenly and vividly of the time in seventh grade when Pietro stole a pack of nasty clove cigarettes from the bodega and snuck them into Leorio’s grandmother’s apartment after school one day. They hid in the tiny bathroom and tried to figure out how to smoke, but only succeeding in singeing their fingers with the lighter and coughing up mouthfuls of spit. They laughed and flushed away the rest of the pack, both wondering aloud why anyone would ever want to do something so gross.

For a moment Leorio is lost in the memory, staring at the shadowy wall.

Alluka’s eyelids have grown heavy, and her head lolls against the pillow. Leorio waits until he hears snuffling snores to gently pull out her earbuds and place the tablet on the nightstand. She stirs slightly but does not wake. He breathes a sigh of relief.

Very carefully, he stands up from the bed and walks over to the small cot in the corner. When he lies down, it’s too short for his legs, but he’s tired enough that he thinks that he’ll be able to fall asleep regardless. When Kurapika comes back, he can take the rest of the bed with Alluka.

Leorio sighs and rolls over to face the wall, watching the faint blue lights of a passing cop car briefly illuminate the dark room. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could take away Kurapika’s pain. He can’t even imagine how it feels to be Kurapika right now. 


	9. in the still of the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Leorio gets sick and receives some much-needed TLC from Kurapika...tw for brief mention of vomit. 
> 
> hey it’s my birthday today! if you’re enjoying the story, a comment would be a wonderful present ;) 
> 
> thanks as always for reading. I love writing these stories so much, and hearing that they connect with other people is such a wonderful feeling. have a good weekend y’all.

The next morning dawns gray and icy. Leorio wakes up with a scratchy throat and a heavy ache in his legs.

“Leorio,” Kurapika says as soon Leorio opens his eyes. “I just spoke to Mito. She’ll be here to pick the kids up within the hour. I told her that I thought it would be all right with you. I tried to wake you several times and couldn’t. Are you all right?”

With a groan, Leorio wipes his crusty eyelids and struggles to make sense of this barrage of information. The light streaming in from the window feels too bright against his eyes. He closes them to think.

“Wait. What? Mito’s...what now?”

He feels Kurapika’s cool palm against his forehead, and hears him make a worried sound.

“Hmm. You’ve got a fever. How are you feeling?”

Opening his eyes, Leorio pushes himself into a seated position in bed. Kurapika is hovering at his elbow, looking concerned. On the other bed, Gon and Killua are playing cards quietly while Alluka watches her tablet. As the memories of last night come flooding back, Leorio sags in relief. Kurapika is still here.

“You...came back,” Leorio says softly, and Kurapika blinks and looks away. “I thought...after last night, maybe...”

“It’s all right,” Kurapika says quickly, meeting his eyes. “We can talk more about it later. But I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t just leave.”

They stare at each other for another moment before Leorio pulls away with a jolt of panic.

“Wait. Crap. What time is it?” He fumbles for his phone, and sees that it’s already 11:45 am. “Shit. We need to pack up and check out before—“

“Don’t worry,” Kurapika interrupts, nodding towards the pile of neatly stacked suitcases in the entryway. “I took the liberty of packing everyone up. You seemed like you needed the sleep. I also called down and asked for a late check out, so we have another hour or so. Take your time.”

“Oh. Thanks, Peeks,” Leorio sighs, giving him a grateful pat on the hand. “God. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re coming down with something,” Kurapika says, turning away to fire up the electric kettle. “You’ll need to rest.”

“Ah, I’ll be fine,” Leorio says with a forced grin. He clambers out of bed and goes to splash water on his face. He pops a handful of Tylenol, hoping it will do the trick. 

His skin feels papery and hot, and he winces at the pain in his legs and joints. There’s a flu going around, and he really can’t afford to be sick right now. He has so much work to do.

“Do you want tea?” Kurapika continues. “Green or black? Green, probably, if you’re unwell.”

“Green’s fine. Thanks. So wait. Mito?”

“Mm. Said she has a friend to visit in DC anyways, so she’s driving down and can take Killua and Alluka back with her as well. She already spoke with Silva.”

Halfway through brushing his teeth, Leorio frowns.

“Oh. So she’s gonna...she’s gonna watch them?”

“Yes. She didn’t give many details, but she’ll be here in about an hour, so you can speak with her then, I suppose,” Kurapika says briskly, shaking out his coat and lying it over the back of the chair. “Would you like something to eat? Breakfast is over, but I could run out and get you a bagel or something of the sort if you’re hungry.”

Leorio spits out his toothpaste, considering for a moment. Food sounds unappealing. He shakes his head.

“Nah. No thanks. I’m good for now. We can stop on the way home. Have the kids eaten?”

“We had waffles!” Alluka shrieks, padding up beside Leorio. “Kurapika let us eat so many!”

“Is that true?” Leorio gasps in mock outrage as Alluka giggles. “Kurapika can deal with your sugar crash in about ten minutes, then.”

The kids all laugh at that, and Kurapika’s ears go pink through his hair.

“They seemed ravenous,” he shrugs. Leorio laughs as he heads into the bathroom.

He takes a long shower to try to clear his head. His throat feels a little better from the Tylenol, but he still feels slow-witted and heavy all over.

When he comes out of the shower, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Gon is standing at the bathroom door. He’s bouncing on his feet, and his eyes are wide and anxious. 

“Hey, Leorio? Can I...talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course,” Leorio says, toweling off his hair. “What’s up?”

“Can we...go outside?” Gon whispers, glancing furtively over at Killua and Alluka as they play cards with Kurapika. “Just for a minute?”

“Sure,” Leorio says, and they step into the hallway. “So. What’s the matter?”

Gon takes a tremulous breath, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“Well, I—“ he pauses to sniff, “I just...I don’t want Bisky to be mad because we’re leaving today and we promised her we’d come back and work with her this week but since Aunt Mito is coming today we can’t go back and I’m worried Bisky will be upset with us and not let us go to camp there this summer!”

The last few words come out in a tearful burst. It takes Leorio a moment to figure out what he’s even talking about.

_ Bisky...? Oh. Right. Bisky. Duh. _

Gradually, he starts to laugh. Gon looks even more distraught.

“Oh! Gon. Man. Look, Bisky will understand. Here, you can call her on my phone and talk to her yourself, okay? It’ll be totally fine. You can come back and visit her during your next school break.”

He pulls out his phone and hands it to Gon, scrolling through his contacts for Bisky’s number.

“Here. Just call her and tell her you’ll be back. Okay?”

Gon stares down at the phone doubtfully. His eyes are glittering with tears.

“You don’t think she’ll be...disappointed?” 

“What? No! You guys are her prize students.” 

“Ging says that there’s nothing worse than a quitter,” Gon mumbles, almost to himself. “He said that when I quit going to basketball practice last year. But Mito said I needed to focus on schoolwork, so...”

Leorio sighs. It always came back down to Ging, somehow.

“Gon. Look at me,” he says gently, kneeling down so he’s on Gon’s eye level. “I know Ging is your dad. I know you love him. But you don’t have to listen to everything he says, you know?”

Gon says nothing. His chin trembles as he continues to grip Leorio’s phone.

“I mean it,” Leorio continues, putting a hand on Gon’s shoulder. “He’s just a person, just like anyone else. He doesn’t have all the answers. I don’t, and Bisky doesn’t, and Killua doesn’t, and Ging doesn’t, and Mito doesn’t. That’s why you need to have lots of people you can talk to about stuff. Okay?”

Gon nods slowly, still looking distressed. Leorio leans down to give him a hug, squeezing him tightly.

“It’ll be okay, kiddo. Come on! Make that call. I promise Bisky will be fine.”

* * *

An hour later, Mito has arrived, and Leorio and Kurapika have to bid the kids goodbye. They’re standing in the hotel lobby, shivering as cold air blows in from outside.

“Bye, Kurapika!” Gon cries, running up and clutching Kurapika around the middle. Kurapika makes a surprised noise before hugging Gon back. “It was so great to meet you! Have fun with Leorio!” 

“Are you sure it’ll be okay to have Killua and Alluka with you?” Leorio murmurs to Mito out of earshot of the kids. “I’m happy to keep watching them for as long as they need it. I really have a bad feeling about that family.”

Mito nods and brushes sleet out of her red hair.

“It’s no problem. I’ve got my grandma with me, and we’ve had them stay with us many times before. I know you want to do everything you can, but you need to concentrate on school, too,” she says, giving him a warm smile. “Children are a lot of work. You should wait until you’re done with residency to even think about it.”

It’s probably true, but Leorio feels a flicker of wounded pride. Did she suspect that he wasn’t doing a good job looking after them? Was that why she came to get them early? He glances across the lobby to see Killua and Alluka hugging Kurapika as Gon jumps in circles around them.

Come to think of it, all of the kids need a shower. Killua smells from here. Alluka has a clump of syrup stuck in her dark hair, and Gon is wearing his swim trunks as pants. When was the last time he fed any of them a vegetable? Perhaps Mito has a point.

“You’re right,” he says, nodding, and Mito laughs behind her hand. “Well. Gon was great, as always. Thanks again for sending him up. You know I always love seeing him.”

“Of course! He was so thrilled. Okay, guys,” she calls, gesturing towards the children. “Last hug. Time to go before the traffic is awful.”

* * *

After a final round of rushed and sticky hugs, they’re gone. All at once the lobby feels resoundingly quiet without their cheerful chatter.

“Well,” Leorio says, turning to Kurapika, “that’s that, I guess.”

Kurapika nods and starts walking back towards the elevators. Grinning, he wipes imaginary sweat off of his brow.

“Geez! They’re a lot of energy, aren’t they?”

Leorio follows him into the elevator and pretends to laugh.

“Yep! It’ll be nice to have...quiet time. Hm.”

“Are you  crying ?” Kurapika says, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” Leorio lies, turning towards the wall and dragging a sleeve across his face. “Just...allergies.”

“Oh, Leorio,” Kurapika sighs, but he’s smiling. “You’re hopeless, aren’t you?”

* * *

After a quick pass through the room to gather up phone chargers and water bottles and other odds and ends, they check out of the hotel. Leorio’s head is starting to pound. He briefly considers asking Kurapika to drive home, but decides that he can handle it. It would be a quicker drive without three kids, at least.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kurapika asks as they pull onto the freeway. “You don’t look well at all.”

“Yep! No problem.”

His throat is growing raw with pain, and he wishes that he’d taken another Tylenol. He pops in a piece of gum to try to take his mind off of it.

“Um...so do you...want to talk more about yesterday?” he asks tentatively, glancing across at Kurapika. “There was quite a bit more I talked about with Howard.”

Kurapika looks out the window at the icy landscape for a long moment before turning back towards Leorio.

“I suppose I’d better hear it from you. Yes. Please tell me,” he says, clenching his jaw and looking resigned. “Thank you.”

* * *

Over the next fifty miles through the mountains, Leorio tells Kurapika everything about his dinner conversation with Howard the night before. Kurapika listens in silence, frowning and occasionally nodding.

“...and so Mariko is apparently living in Montreal,” Leorio finishes, slightly out of breath from talking so much. “And I have her number to contact her if you want. But, you know, I’ll leave it totally up to you. Here, let’s get gas. Do you need to pee?”

They pull into a tiny roadside gas station and get out of the car. As Kurapika watches the gas pump, Leorio goes inside to use the bathroom and buy a pack of cough drops. A man in a ragged flannel shirt watches him wordlessly from the cashier, chewing a wad of tobacco in his lip. As Leorio hands over his credit card to pay, the man pauses to spit a stream of dark brown liquid into a plastic cup. Leorio looks away, his stomach churning.

When he walks back outside into the freezing afternoon air, Kurapika is pacing in circles around the car.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep. So where was I. Mariko. Right,” Leorio says, starting the engine and pulling back into traffic. “Do you think...you’d want me to talk to her? Or that you’d wanna talk to her?” Leorio asks, merging behind a truck. Bits of gravel spray up into his windshield. “Ah, fuck. Hope that doesn’t crack it.”

“I’d like...to think it over,” Kurapika says very quietly, and Leorio sees his knuckles go white against his corduroy pants. “If that’s...all right. I’d like to think it over first.”

“Of course,” Leorio says too quickly, “of course. Take your time. I won’t call her unless you’re ready.”

They lapse into silence for the next twenty minutes. Leorio eats cough drop after cough drop, but his throat is so swollen and painful that it’s hard to swallow. His tongue grows numb from the menthol flavor. As Kurapika answers emails on his phone, typing rapidly, Leorio’s mind starts to stray to the mountain of studying he needs to complete before school starts. He was supposed to be doing fifty pathology flashcards a day, but at this point he’s over six hundred flashcards behind. He’s going to have to pull several all-nighters if he even has a chance at passing. He also needs to report his findings on the eyes back to Cheadle. The pounding in his head increases.

“Huh,” Kurapika says in a strange voice, frowning down at his phone. “Have you...did you already see this?”

He holds up his phone screen to show a BuzzFeed article. Leorio glances at it quickly. When he sees the headline, his stomach drops.

“Ten Reasons The Kurtans Were Totally Badass,” Kurapika reads aloud in a monotone. He looks up at Leorio in disbelief. “And there’s another one in the New York Times. The Last Kurta Tells All. And something in the Herald Tribune, too. It’s all over. You were right.”

“What do they say?” Leorio asks, clutching the steering wheel tightly. “Is it about Mariko?”

Kurapika skims the articles quickly, muttering to himself.

“Only survivor...living in Montreal...doesn’t remember much...left as a child...DNA match. It’s what you told me. She must have come forward to the press.”

He closes his phone and folds his hands in his lap, looking grim.

“This is a bigger operation than I thought. This is going to be an issue for my work. It will be much harder to go undercover if the world is abuzz with Kurtan trivia.” 

“You don’t...you don’t think that there’s a possibility that it’s real, then?” Leorio asks slowly, merging into the right lane. The exit to Roanoke is coming up. He can’t wait to be out of the car. His body is wracked with chills. “I mean. Hypothetically, if it’s real, wouldn’t it make your work way easier? You would have all of these big companies on your side. Like, if you did an interview with the New York Times or something, you could gather a lot of money and smart people on your side. Don’t you think?”

“I have no interest in being paraded around as a sob story,” Kurapika says tiredly. “Whoever this woman is, she’s fishing for something, and I don’t like it. If I reach out to her, it will only be for investigative purposes.”

They fall silent again. As they drive back into Roanoke, Leorio mulls over a topic that’s been bothering him for months. It’s something that he tries not to think about.

He pulls into his apartment driveway and turns towards Kurapika, taking a deep breath.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends,” Kurapika says with a half-smile. “What is it?”

“Um,” Leorio starts, swallowing hard over his swollen throat. “It’s just. Last spring...with the guy at the auction house. Uvogin. Did you...?” 

He gets his answer when Kurapika flinches. His heart sinks.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s...fuck. Okay.”

Kurapika presses a hand over his face.

“I don’t...I’d rather not discuss that,” he says in a near-whisper. “It’s done.”

“Kurapika,” Leorio implores, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I promise I’m only asking because I care about you and I’m worried about what all of this means. I’m worried that people will be looking for you. What can I do to help you?” His voice is growing desperate. “There’s just too much happening now. What can I do?”

There’s a tense moment as Kurapika fixes him with an eerie feline gaze. A cold shiver ripples across Leorio’s chest. He doesn’t want to believe that Kurapika could kill someone, and yet...

“You’re sick, Leorio,” Kurapika says gently, reaching out to touch Leorio’s face, and the spell is broken. Kurapika’s hand is icy cold, and Leorio relaxes into his gentle touch. “Come inside. I’ll look after you.” 

* * *

“I have so much studying to do,” Leorio moans once they’re inside. “And we should call the kids and make sure they made it home okay. And I guess we need some groceries. And I need to do my write-up for Cheadle. Shit. Okay. Homework first.”

He hurries over to his desk to gather up his flashcards and textbooks, but when he picks up a card off of the stack, the text blurs in front of his eyes, and he can’t make out a single word.

“Just lie down,” Kurapika instructs, taking his elbow and guiding him firmly towards the unmade bed. “You need to rest. You’re burning up.”

“Class starts in four days and I’m so behind,” Leorio explains, but Kurapika isn’t listening. He settles Leorio underneath the covers and makes him swallow two Tylenol before disappearing into the other room.

Leorio feels bereft when he leaves, and watches the door anxiously. Everything feels achy and hazy and surreal. He can’t remember how long they’ve been home. Did they get home ten minutes ago, or was it hours? The light outside is shadowy and purple now.

He might fall asleep, or he might not. It’s hard to tell. At some point Kurapika reappears with a damp washcloth, and drapes it across Leorio’s forehead. It feels nice at first, but then Leorio starts to feel so cold that he trembles beneath the piled blankets. He paws the washcloth away and pulls his knees up to his chin.

“Too cold,” he grumbles. Kurapika places the washcloth on the nightstand and leaves again. Distantly, as though through a layer of thick cotton, Leorio hears him moving pans around in the kitchen.

Ten minutes later he’s burning hot and drenched in sweat. He grabs the washcloth and wipes his face and chest with it before pulling off his sweatshirt. He’s so hot. He needs to go outside to cool down. Yes, the idea of cool night air against his skin sounds heavenly. Lurching out of bed, he stumbles towards the back porch and manages to get a mouthful of blissfully freezing air before Kurapika wrenches him back indoors, scolding him and wrapping him in a blanket.

“Stop it. Lie down. You’re a doctor, aren’t you? You should know how important it is to rest when you’re sick!

“I’m not a doctor _yet_ ,” Leorio reminds him, collapsing back into bed. He’s shivering again, and burrows under the blankets. “That’s why I need to do my flashcards. Kurapika, I need...to do my flashcards,” he cries, suddenly panicking. “Shit. Can you grab them?”

There’s a blur of Kurapika’s voice, and a mouthful of sickly sweet Nyquil, and the lights turning out, and a quick, dreamless, drug-coated sleep.  


* * *

When he wakes again it’s fully dark outside, and Kurapika is leaning over him with a mug of steaming liquid. It smells salty and pungent. Leorio struggles to prop his head up far enough to drink it, but Kurapika shushes him and pushes him back down onto the pillows.

“It’s okay. I’ll feed you. Just lie down.”

“Smells weird.”

“It’s good for you,” Kurapika chides him, and feeds him a spoonful. It tastes like boiled pickle juice. Leorio starts coughing at once.

“Blech. The fuck is that?”

“Shhh. One more spoonful. It’s a traditional Kurtan recipe. It has electrolytes. It’s good for fevers.”

Leorio complies, because it feels nice against his throat. He remembers feeding Pietro like this. It was always hard. He’ll try to make it easier. Pietro didn’t like it...he always pushed Leorio away when he tried to be nice, always got embarrassed, even right at the end when he could barely drink or hold a spoon.

“Pietro was very lucky to have you, sweetheart,” Kurapika says softly, wiping Leorio’s face with the wet washcloth. “Very lucky. Now just try to rest.”

Leorio blinks, confused. Did he say it out loud?

“Yes. It’s all right. Go back to sleep,” Kurapika says, and Leorio obeys.

* * *

As he sleeps it seems as though he’s hearing Kurapika and Pietro talking quietly nearby, or rather he senses the echo of their voices, each saying the approximate shapes of phrases their owners might have said in conversation. Pietro sits cross-legged on the foot of the bed, chewing a pen and raising an eyebrow. The Yanks are playin’ next week, and I know a girl who might give us tickets if we play our cards right, hm, Paladibutt, hm? Kurapika answers in his vague, polite, obfuscating Kurapika way: I appreciate your kindness, I appreciate it, but I’d rather not discuss it, I do not believe at this time that it would be in the best interest of the safety of the schedule of the—

He wakes with a start, mouth watering with acidic nausea, and barely makes it into the bathroom before throwing up violently. His head swims.

“Leorio?” Kurapika says, appearing beside him in the darkness. “Oh, no. I had hoped it wasn’t the flu.”

“Don’t worry,” Leorio rasps, pushing Kurapika away and wiping his mouth. He’s mortified to have Kurapika see him in such a gross state. “I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

“I was awake anyways. It’s all right. Here, I’ll help you.”

“It’s really okay,” Leorio says again, but Kurapika is already kneeling down and—is he trying to brush Leorio’s teeth? Leorio laughs weakly and takes the toothbrush from him. He looks so determined.

“Thanks, Peeks. I can do that, though.”

He rinses his mouth and lets Kurapika support him back to bed. Every inch of his body aches. His throat is even more sore from vomiting.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he mutters as Kurapika sits down carefully beside him. “I’m fine. You can go work or sleep or do whatever you need to do.” He rolls onto his side, shivering. “You must be exhausted.”

It must be early morning; the sky outside is lightening to a clear pale blue. Kurapika puts a hand on Leorio’s sweaty forehead and strokes his hair back.

“Just rest. You’re always taking care of everyone else. Just rest for a bit.”

“I’m a doctor,” Leorio says through his closing eyes. He’s growing tired again. “It’s what I’m s’posed to do.”

“When’s the last time anyone took care of you?” Kurapika continues, still stroking his hair. “It’s all right. Just sleep.”

When was the last time anyone took care of him? Leorio can’t remember, and in his NyQuil haze it’s almost too much to bear. He nuzzles closer to Kurapika’s hand and closes his eyes tightly. Stinging tears roll down his face.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and then he’s asleep once more. 


	10. cards on the table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the hiatus! I'll be updating this much more regularly now. 
> 
> this chapter is definitely rated M for some consensual adult behavior, so read accordingly. I hope you enjoy, and as always, thank you so much for your kudos and comments - it's so nice to get feedback!

By the third day of Leorio’s flu, he’s well enough that he’s back on his feet and eating again. He still feels weak and achy, but his fever is down and his throat no longer feels flayed and raw.

As Leorio returns to normal, Kurapika grows increasingly restless and cagey, pacing around the apartment and opening every window to let in the frigid January air.

“You need fresh air,” Kurapika says briskly as Leorio shivers. “And sunlight. You should go outside and open your mouth to let the sunlight heal your throat.” 

“Um, I think that would just make me get sick again,” Leorio points out, following behind him to close the windows again. “Can’t you feel how cold it is?” 

“You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss natural cures. An over-reliance on medicine is unhealthy. And you didn’t drink the tincture I made for you yet, either,” Kurapika snaps, pointing at a mug of green sludge sitting untouched on the nightstand. “It’s dandelion greens and ginseng. It’ll restore your vitality.”

Leorio opens his mouth to argue before seeing Kurapika’s steely gaze. He falls silent, decides that it’s not worth the energy, and takes a tiny sip of the sludge, grimacing.

“See?” Kurapika says with an approving nod. “Doesn’t it clear your sinuses?”

Judging by how badly the sludge is burning Leorio’s taste buds, it’s certainly clearing something out. He gives a weak smile and a thumbs up. Kurapika, relenting at last, walks into the living room to fidget with the blinds. He’s been obsessively checking the street all day, and jumps whenever Leorio catches him in the act. It makes Leorio nervous. After a few hours he picks up the habit himself, constantly peeking through the blinds to check the street for...what exactly? He doesn’t know, and Kurapika doesn’t explain.

* * *

The news about Mariko continues to roll in. The Smithsonian officially opened their doors to the exhibit yesterday, and the internet buzzes with commentary. Mariko has given interviews to several major publications, including the New York Times, the Washington Post, Time Magazine, and the BBC.

In each interview, she describes her memories of her childhood in the Kurtan tribe until age 9, when her parents decided to leave the village, move to Tokyo, and change their names. When the Kurtan massacre occurred some 30 years later, Mariko’s parents had already died from natural causes, and she was left without a single living relative on the planet (or so she thought). Since then, she’s lived quietly in obscurity in Montréal, working as a librarian. She never married or had children. Three years ago, she came across a pair of Scarlet Eyes in a Sotheby’s catalogue that someone left in the library one day, and ended up using her entire savings account to buy them back for herself. But as the years passed and she kept the eyes of some unknown friend or family member hidden in her attic, she felt the urge to go public with her story.

Leorio has to admit that it’s a compelling narrative. Kurapika’s cynicism has led him to scrutinize every word for inconsistencies, but something about Mariko seems genuine. Her testimony is detailed, unsensational, and consistent. She’s either an exceptionally good liar, or she’s telling the truth.

As with many real tragedies, it’s commodified at once, and the public is gobbling it up. Three straight-to-Netflix miniseries are already in the works, #KurtanEyes is trending on Twitter, and Instagram has released a promotional filter for the Smithsonian exhibit that turns the user’s eyes bright red. Leorio has never used Instagram much, but when he logs on to check if anyone he knew had posted something Kurtan-related, he’s irritated to see several red-eyes selfies staring up at him. Many of them included somber captions about the importance of “raising awareness” about the plight of the murdered Kurtans.

“Raising awareness of what, exactly?” Leorio mutters to himself, scrolling through the Explore page. “Awareness that they were killed? Awareness of your selfie? Who is this supposed to help?”

He closes Instagram in disgust and instead pulls up a photo of Mariko from her Time Magazine interview. He feels drawn to her face, and keeps opening the photo whenever Kurapika leaves the room.

She’s a thin Eurasian woman in her fifties with dark hair and a spatter of freckles, and there’s a distinctly Kurapika-ish tilt to her large eyes. She looks kind, and very tired. Her skin has a yellowish tinge to it. Was it bad lighting, or jaundice? Leorio taps his phone screen, wondering. If she were his patient, he’d order a full work up of labs on her liver function.

“What are you working on?” Kurapika asks, appearing soundlessly at Leorio’s elbow and startling him. “More pathology?”

Feeling oddly guilty, Leorio quickly turns his phone face down on the kitchen table and pretends to return to his flashcards.

“Ah! Just more endless anatomy. Man, how many bones are even in the knee! Heh.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but Kurapika doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, make sure you study hard,” he says with a vague smile. He gives Leorio a pat on the shoulder before returning to his sentry post at the living room window. The blinds rustle as he parts them to peek down onto the street again. 

* * *

This is the longest stretch of time that Leorio has ever spent with Kurapika. Living with him, it turns out, is quite different than only seeing him sporadically. He has more than a few quirks and strange habits that reveal themselves after a few days pass, and Leorio finds them equally charming and irritating.   


“Peeks. You’re doing it again,” he calls as Kurapika begins whistling tunelessly from the living room. “Please. It’s giving me a headache.”   
  
The whistling abruptly ceases. Leorio exhales and rubs his temples, leaning over his laptop. It’s the fourth time he’s had to ask him to stop today.   


Twenty minutes later the whistling starts up again as Kurapika bustles around the kitchen, hunting for ingredients to make another sludge drink. Unable to concentrate on his essay, Leorio stands up from his desk and strifes into the kitchen to place his hands firmly on Kurapika’s shoulders, who looks up at him in surprise.   


“What is it?”

”Baby. The whistling. You have to stop. I think you don’t know when you’re doing it,” Leorio pleads, giving his shoulders a playful shake. Kurapika frowns, shrugging away from his touch.   


“I’m not whistling. You must be hearing the radiator or a bird outside.”

”It’s definitely you. I can see you doing it.”   


“You’re imagining it,” Kurapika says flatly, and Leorio gives up.

* * *

Cheadle calls Leorio while Kurapika is taking a bath. Leorio spends half an hour telling her everything he noticed about the eyes at the Smithsonian, feeling that she's grilling him a bit. Her questions grow increasingly technical and difficult, asking about specific blood vessels and ligaments. He does his best to not fold under her scrutiny. 

"Well! Good. You're a good detective out in the field," she says approvingly at the end of Leorio's presentation. "You're hired!"

Leorio laughs in relief. "Good. I'm glad. And..." he hesitates, unsure how much Howard has told her about Mariko. "I suppose you've been keeping up with the news?" 

"Mm. Quite interesting, this Mariko woman. I'd like for you to interview her, if possible. It would be invaluable to have the opportunity to speak with a living Kurta. Did Howard leave you with any contact information for her?" 

"Ah," Leorio says, hesitating. He'd been expecting this, but he has no idea how Kurapika will react to it. "Right. Um...yes, he did. I can contact her and try to arrange an interview."

"An in-person meeting would be even better," Cheadle muses. "I still have some leftover grant money I haven't used up yet. I could arrange travel for you to go meet her. She's in Montreal, I think Howard said?"

"I think so, yes." 

He tries to keep his voice bright, but his mind begins to race. The idea of taking yet another trip is exhausting, and besides, school starts in a few days. He has so much studying to catch up on. But Cheadle trusts him...

"Well. I'll let you get back to your studies," she says, detecting his anxiety. "Did the holidays treat you well, otherwise? How was your visit with your godson?"

"Oh! It was really good. Good to see him. He, uh...brought along a few friends, as well. Thanks for asking. How were yours?"

"I was on call for most of it, so I don't really know," she laughs, and they exchange another five minutes of small talk about school before hanging up. Once he's off the call, Leorio stands rooted in place in the kitchen for a while, staring at the wall and chewing his cheeks.

It would be a terrible idea to go behind Kurapika's back to talk to Mariko. He'll have to get his approval before he can move forward with anything else. It's only fair, of course, but somehow he feels preemptively exhausted just thinking about it. Everything was so complicated. He wonders what it would feel like to just have to worry about studying for med school, and laughs darkly to himself. 

* * *

“Did you see this one?” Leorio asks, showing his phone screen to Kurapika as they sit side-by-side on the couch. It’s late afternoon, and a gritty snow is falling outside. Leorio is ostensibly working on his anatomy flashcards, but his Google alerts for anything Kurtan-related have been pinging nonstop all day. “It’s from The Guardian.”

_Lone Survivor Speaks Out: Surviving a Cult_

Kurapika looks up from his laptop and quickly skims the article. Leorio watches his face darken into a scowl.

“It wasn’t a cult. This is grossly mischaracterized. She makes it sound like the Kurtans deserved what happened to them.”

“How so?” Leorio asks, intrigued. He’d read the article quickly and hadn’t gotten that impression. “What do you mean?”

Kurapika snaps his laptop closed and pulls his knees up to his chest, gazing out the window at the falling snow.

“Well. The way she talks about her family and what she remembers, it’s like...they were from another planet. It’s all focused on how we didn’t have electricity or internet.”

He pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Leorio waits silently, not wanting to interrupt.

“Which,” he continues with a faint smile, “to be fair, we didn’t have those things, as I've told you before."

"Right."

"But it's not fair to paint the Kurtans as...as...I don't know, as these...uncivilized mongrels." 

"Yeah. Pretty derivative. Plus, she doesn't remember as much as you, right?"

"Correct," Kurapika agrees, and  heaves a sigh. Leorio reaches over and gives his leg a squeeze. 

"I'm sorry, Peeks." 

Kurapika gives him an affronted look, shaking his hair out of his eyes.   
  
"For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know, but...you know. I'm sorry. It must hurt to read things like that. I can't imagine." 

"It's fine," Kurapika says immediately. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Would you like to have dinner with me? Let's go somewhere." 

He's clearly trying to change the subject, so Leorio lets it drop. He doesn't want to upset him. 

"Are you...asking me out?" Leorio replies with a teasing smile. "I'll think about it." 

Kurapika rolls his eyes and pokes Leorio's arm with a sock-covered foot. "Don't be difficult. Yes, I'd like to have dinner with you. Is there a good place in town?" 

"If you're paying, sure! If I'm paying, then it's Pizza Hut," Leorio says, just to get Kurapika to sputter in annoyance. "Just kidding. Yeah, there's some nice places downtown. Let's walk around and see what looks good, yeah?

"I assume you'll change clothes first?" Kurapika says, getting to his feet and stretching. Leorio looks down at what he's wearing: an old Yankees sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He shrugs in mock confusion.

"Nah, I'm good. Why?"

As expected, Kurapika smacks him on the arm and pushes him into the bedroom to change. Leorio can't hide his grin. It's nice to see Kurapika returning to his normal self. 

* * *

An hour later, they're both dressed in their cleanest button-down shirts and seated across each other at dinner. It's a nice, old-fashioned, white-tablecloth sort of restaurant in downtown Roanoke. They're both drinking whiskey cocktails and munching on bread. Kurapika's face glows in the warm candlelight as he fishes the cherry out of his glass and smiles at Leorio. 

"This is...nice," Kurapika says, uncharacteristically shy, and Leorio beams back at him and touches his hand over the table. 

"Yeah. This is nice. It feels...normal." 

"You're feeling recovered from your flu?"

Leorio nods, taking a sip of his drink. "I think so. You took good care of me." 

"I only did what I would want done to me." 

"Wouldn't kill you to be a _little_ more romantic, you know," Leorio teases, squeezing his hand. "It's allowed." 

"What do you want me to say? That I would sacrifice life and limb for your well-being and comfort?" 

"That's a lot better," Leorio says with a wink. Kurapika laughs and finishes his drink, blushing slightly. 

Sitting here in the dimly lit restuarant, surrounded by other couples, it feels almost like they're two regular people. Like they could have normal problems. As the whiskey hits his system, Leorio is overcome with a pang of melancholy. He leans closer to Kurapika, interlacing their fingers.

"D'you ever think about what it would be like if we met in a different way?" 

Kurapika frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Like..." Leorio begins, trying to think of the right way to explain himself, "like...if we met at a party, or something. Or through a mutual friend, and...started dating right away. And if..." he pauses, not wanting to sound insensitive, "if we...had, you know, normal lives." Kurapika is watching him with a puzzled expression, and he tries to clarify. "Like, look at all of these people around us. Do you ever wonder what the biggest problem in their lives is? Maybe it's what pasta to order. Or their kids are getting a B in algebra or something. Boring stuff. Normal stuff."

"Do you feel like you're not a normal person?" 

"No," Leorio says too quickly, and then feels rather embarrassed. "Or...um. I dunno. I guess what I mean is...it's just, you know, really nice to be here with you." 

"Well, it's nice to be here with you, too," Kurapika replies, still looking puzzled. "Are you tipsy?"

"No," Leorio snaps, and then hiccups. He laughs, relenting. "Okay. Fine. Maybe a little. I haven't drank since before I got sick."

As they eat their meals of grilled fish and rice, Kurapika entertains Leorio with a story about the first time he ever went to a grocery store as a 12-year-old. Leorio listens appreciatively, privately marveling at the details. It's easy to forget about Kurapika's extraordinarily odd upbringing. 

"What was the weirdest part about it?" he asks as the waiter clears their plates. "If you had to pick just one thing."

Kurapika purses his lips, thinking.

"Well. I guess...realizing that we weren't actually that different from everyone in the outside world. We could understand each other. Even though we had differences, people outside the village weren't the aliens that we had been taught to see them as." 

"Wow. Yeah." 

"Which, when I think about it, is why I take offense to some of the Mariko articles," he says, his gaze unfocused. "I don't remember it that way at all." 

At the mention of Mariko, Leorio sits up straighter in his seat.

"I see. And...do you wonder if she's maybe...spinning the truth, a bit?" 

Kurapika doesn't reply for a minute, fiddling with his napkin. Leorio waits, tracing the rim of his glass. 

"Hm. Not exactly," he says, looking as though he's choosing his words carefully. "There are always people willing to lie about the Kurtans, so this wouldn't be anything new. It's more that I..." 

He falls silent, and Leorio decides to risk taking a guess.

"Is it that you're worried that you can't trust your own memories?" he asks, his voice gentle, and Kurapika looks up and nods. 

"...Yes." 

Leorio takes his hand again, watching as Kurapika's eyes glitter with unshed tears. 

"I understand." He pauses to take a deep breath. "Listen. I understand why you don't want to, but...it seems to me as though actually talking to Mariko might help. Cheadle has asked me to interview her, and I don't want to do it unless you're okay with it. But maybe...maybe it would help. What do you think?"

Kurapika is silent for a long moment, and Leorio starts to worry that he's pushed it too far. But when the waiter comes to collect their check, Kurapika sets his mouth and nods firmly.

"All right. That's...acceptable. If you contact her, I will accompany you." 

They gather their coats and head outside. It's snowing lightly, and Leorio watches a few tiny snowflakes settle in Kurapika's soft hair. He brushes them aside and kisses his temple. 

"Thank you, Peeks. I think this will be good. I'll call her tomorrow." 

"Fine. Let's worry about it tomorrow," Kurapika says, suddenly tense. As they walk down the snowy sidewalk, he pulls Leorio into a dark alleyway, and to Leorio's surprise, plants a warm kiss on the hollow of his neck. "I'd rather do this now..." 

Leorio leans down to kiss him fully on the mouth, feeling his erection straining against his dress pants.

"You don't have to tell me twice. Should we go home first?"

"I suppose," Kurapika says, his hand sliding down Leorio's stomach and settling on his erection, and Leorio can't suppress a growl of pleasure. "Mm. Yes. Let's go home." 

* * *

Somehow they make it home, but they're too impatient to get all the way out of their clothes before they're all over each other, stumbling into the dark bedroom and kissing clumsily. Leorio's still wearing his dress shirt half-unbuttoned and his woolen socks, and Kurapika doesn't bother to take off his silk trousers. When Leorio leans down to take Kurapika in his mouth, Kurapika shakes his head and pulls Leorio up for a kiss instead. 

"What's wrong?" Leorio breathes, running his hands down Kurapika's velvety stomach. "No?"

"Not like that. Let's..." Kurapika says, hesitating, and Leorio figures it out. His mouth goes dry.

"Oh. _Oh_. Are you sure?" 

"Yes," Kurapika says at once, his voice husky. "Yes. Is that okay? Do you have anything?" 

"Right. Um..." Leorio fumbles in his nightstand and pulls out a container of half-used lube. "Is this okay?" His ears burn. "Or, uh..." 

"Do you have a preference?" Kurapika asks, his hands snaking down to run his fingers over Leorio's cock. Leorio is so hard that it's painful, and he fights back a moan. 

"Fuck. Um. I don't know. I've..." he stops, overcome by something that Kurapika's doing with his wrist, "I've never done it this way before." 

"Oh! I'm sorry, I thought...well. Is this all right? Would you like to?" 

Leorio doesn't have to think about it. He presses closer to Kurapika, kissing his mouth and neck hungrily as Kurapika touches him faster. 

" _Yes._ Yes. With you. Yes. Please don't stop." 

* * *

It's good. It's very good, and it's very, very different from every other time Leorio has ever had sex. There's something harsh and alien about it at first, and it takes him a while to get used to the sensation of actually being penetrated, but Kurapika is gentle and goes slowly. Once the initial shock of discomfort is over, Leorio finds that it's more satisfying than anything he can remember.

As Kurapika gets close, he reaches down and grabs Leorio's cock again, stroking him rhythmically. When they come together, it's the most overwhelming orgasm that Leorio has ever had. His vision actually blacks out for a few seconds. He feels drugged with endorphins, and every muscle in his body goes limp. 

"Are you all right?" Kurapika asks tenderly, leaning down to kiss Leorio once they're separated. "Did I hurt you?" He peers closer at Leorio, and his brow tightens with concern. "Oh no. You're crying. I'm sorry." 

Leorio hadn't realized that that he was crying at all. With a bemused laugh, he reaches up to touch his face and feels it covered with wet, snotty tears. 

"Oh. Weird. I'm fine," he sniffles. "That was just...wow. I'm fine, I promise." 

Kurapika smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "Let's take a shower?" 

* * *

"Sorry for assuming," Kurapika tells him the next morning over coffee. "You just seem very...confident, so I figured." 

"Oh. That's okay," Leorio shrugs. "No offense taken." 

"Are you feeling all right?" 

"Definitely a little sore. But hey, totally worth it. I'm just walking like a cowboy, that's all." 

"We don't have to do it again if you don't want to." 

"I didn't say that," Leorio says swiftly. "It was fucking _great_!" 

Kurapika laughs. "I'm glad. I agree." 

* * *

It's Leorio's last day of winter break, and he has a long list of tasks to complete before school starts tomorrow. He has a giant pile of flashcards to review, laundry to wash, another report to type up for Cheadle, and he needs to call Mariko to try to schedule an interview. He decides to start with the phone call, as it's the most intimidating item on the list. 

"I'm going to call her today," he tells Kurapika as he's combing his wet hair in the bathroom. He meets Leorio's eyes in the mirror and nods. 

"All right. Good luck." 

Out in the icy backyard, Leorio calls Mariko and gets a busy signal. He paces back and forth in the crunchy grass until the answering machine picks up, telling him to leave a message for Mariko after the beep. He waits five minutes and calls again, hoping to catch her, but again gets the busy tone and leaves another message for good measure. 

When Leorio comes back inside, stomping his feet to shake the snow off of his shoes, Kurapika is packing clothes into his suitcase. He glances up at Leorio expectantly. 

"Any luck?" 

"Nah. I left a message. What are you doing?" Leorio asks, nodding at the suitcase. 

"I need to go back to New York tomorrow. I booked a train ticket," he says apologetically, and Leorio blinks in surprise. 

"Oh. Is it because I'm going back to school? You can totally stay. You're not in the way at all," he says quickly, but Kurapika shakes his head.

"I just need to take care of some business in the city. And I haven't been in my apartment in months. I need to water my houseplants and clean up a bit." He notices Leorio's worried expression, and softens. "Don't worry. I won't go MIA. I just need to take care of some things. I'll have my phone on." 

"So that's why you were so gung-ho last night," Leorio mutters. "Hm. Well, fine. I still don't believe you even have an apartment in New York. I certainly never saw it." 

Kurapika chuckles, folding a pair of slacks and fitting them neatly into the zippered compartment of his suitcase. "I do! I don't use it much, so it's not very nice. But it exists. I promise I'll let you see it sometime."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Leorio grumbles. Kurapika finishes packing and stands up to give him a tight hug. Caught off guard, Leorio hugs him back, resting his chin on Kurapika's sweet-smelling head. "I'll miss you."

"I’ll miss you too. But I'll see you soon," Kurapika reassures him. "This won't be like last time." 

* * *

Kurapika's train to New York is scheduled to leave while Leorio is in anatomy lab, so they have to say goodbye in the morning. Leorio drops him off at the Amtrak station on his way to school. 

"Promise you'll pick up the phone?" he asks, holding Kurapika's face in both hands, and Kurapika nods.

"I promise. Make sure you eat and sleep, all right? You can't become a good doctor if you don't take care of yourself," he says sternly. 

"Thanks, Mom. I will," Leorio teases, and kisses him one last time. "See you soon, right?"

"See you soon," Kurapika promises, and gets out of the car with his suitcase. Leorio drives away slowly, watching Kurapika wave in the mirror until he's out of sight.

* * *

After everything that happened over break, it feels so bizarre to be driving to school. He arrives early and takes his time walking to the anatomy lab, lingering over a cup of coffee in the university lounge and trying to snap himself back into the reality of exams and homework and student body meetings. Several of his classmates stop to greet him, and he struggles to concentrate on what they're saying. 

He perks up a bit in anatomy lab, and feels his stomach start to grumble at the smell of formaldehyde. For some reason, it was a powerful appetite stimulant. You wouldn't think that dissecting a corpse would make you desperately crave a burrito, but it's like clockwork. As he watches his professor explain how to properly slice into the left carotid artery, his stomach gives such a loud rumble that the girl next to him looks over at him, grimacing. 

On his way to his next class (pathology lecture, always hard to concentrate), his phone rings with an unfamiliar number. He ducks into an empty hallway to answer it. 

"Leorio Paladiknight speaking." 

"Hello?" replies a woman, and her voice is very raspy. He hears the hum and click of an oxygen machine in the background. "This is Mariko. You left me some messages earlier?"

His nerves zing with adrenaline. He plugs his other ear to hear her soft voice better, and ducks farther down the hallway to avoid any students interrupting him. 

"Oh! Hi. Mariko, thank you for returning my call. Has Howard talked to you about me and my work, by any chance?" 

"Yes," she says with a wheeze, "he told me about you. I'd be happy to have an interview with you, but I'm afraid I've been in the hospital." 

Leorio frowns, remembering the jaundiced tint of her skin in the photographs. Was his hunch about liver disease correct? 

"I'm sorry to hear that. There's no rush at all on the interview, then. I hope you're back on your feet soon," he says, trying to sound encouraging. "Feel free to call when you're feeling better and back at home." 

She pauses to cough, and then gives a weary chuckle. "I'm afraid I don't think I'll be out of the hospital any time soon. If you'd like to talk to me, I think it's better if it's soon. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to."

"...Oh. I see," Leorio says slowly, feeling a cold wash of shock. He clears his throat. "Mariko, forgive me if this is rude, but I'm a medical student and I'm curious about your diagnosis. Would you mind sharing that with me?"

"I'd tell you if I could, but I'm afraid your guess is as good as mine. They don't know what it is. I'd been sick for a while, but in the last few weeks I took a turn."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Leorio says reflexively, doing the math in his head. She must have given all of those interviews for the press right before she got sick. "May I ask what hospital you're in? You're in Montreal, correct?"

"They transferred me to New York. I'm at Mount Sinai now. They've run tests but can't figure it out." She stops to cough violently, and Leorio holds the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Excuse me. They say I might not have long." Her speech is growing slurred. 

"I'll let you go, Mariko. Is it all right if I visit you soon?" 

"Yes," she says, her voice faint. A machine begins to beep incessantly in the background. "But come soon. I'm sorry, but I'll have to go now." 

She hangs up, and Leorio is left standing in the empty hallway, stunned.

* * *

He can barely focus for the rest of the day, and struggles to pay attention during his pathology lecture. When he bumps into Cheadle at the student café, he tells her the news. Her eyes alight with scholarly fascination. 

"Ah! How interesting. I wonder if it's genetically linked to the chromosomal abnormality of the eyes," she says, picking apart a lemon poppy seed muffin. "Mount Sinai, you said? I wonder who's working there now. I did my residency there, you know. I wonder if it's Parkinson's? No, if it's that fast of an onset. Hmm. Maybe a malignant brain tumor?" 

As she continues to brainstorm aloud, Leorio excuses himself to go home, feeling a bit nauseous. He drives home in the early winter twilight, watching the last rays of golden sun slip behind the dark mountains. 

* * *

“Well, you're right about one thing," he tells Kurapika over the phone later that night as he dismantles his Christmas decorations. "I'll be seeing you soon." 


	11. never felt so alive and alone

On a rainy Thursday afternoon three days after Kurapika's departure, Leorio is walking to histology class when he notices a new poster hanging on the student lounge bulletin board. 

_February 1st, 2 pm: Special Topic Symposium hosted by the Student Union: History of Kurtan Mutations_

With a sense of trepidation, Leorio opens his phone calendar and adds the event. He doesn't know what to expect. Would it be hosted by the same people who were posting those stupid Instagram red-eye filter selfies, or would it be high-level academic discussion? He frowns to himself as he continues his walk to class, weaving between chattering students. Everyone is nervous about their upcoming midterm exams, but Leorio is finding it exceedingly difficult to focus on school. He's booked himself an Amtrak ticket to New York this weekend, and although he's planning on bringing all of his notes with him to study during the long train ride, he knows that he'll be so apprehensive about meeting Mariko (and seeing Kurapika again) that it will be hard to get any meaningful studying done.

The anxiety of the looming tests sits in his stomach like a stone, and he's been having stress nightmares. In every dream he shows up late to the exam only to realize that he forgot to sign up for the class in the first place. Sometimes Pietro makes an appearance in the dreams, judging him silently from the corner of the shadowy classroom. Usually the dream ends when Leorio wakes up with his heart pounding at 3 in the morning. Too shaken to go back to sleep, he's gotten in the habit of making a pot of coffee in the pre-dawn darkness and doing flashcards for hours before sunrise. Efficient though it may be, he's so tired by afternoon that he can barely keep his eyes open. 

* * *

Cheadle notices, and scolds him for it while they're editing a section of her book later that evening. Leorio is seated across her at her cluttered office desk, proofreading a chapter of the manuscript with a red pen in hand, when his eyelids start to flutter closed. 

"Chin up, Paladiknight!" 

Leorio sits up with a guilty start. Cheadle leans across the desk to peer into his face.

"You're not sleeping enough, are you? That's a bad habit to get into now. Save that for residency when you're working 80 hours a week." 

"Sorry. I promise it's not the work," Leorio assures her, setting down the pen and rubbing his eyes. "Just...ah...trying to balance everything, I guess."

"Is the trip to see Mariko too much?" she asks, tilting her head. "We could try to set up a Skype meeting instead."

"No, no," Leorio says quickly, "I really do want to go, it's not that. I'm just..."

He trails off, and Cheadle gives him a sympathetic look and says nothing. They work together in silence for another hour, listening to the quiet scuffling of the janitor cleaning the halls outside.

"Good luck this weekend, then," Cheadle tells him as he stands to go. "You have my cell if you have any questions. But if you could get through the list of topics I sent, then that should be very helpful." 

Leorio nods, thinking of the list of detailed questions. "Just try to get anything I can about her memories of her parents' eyes, any siblings, any other abnormalities...I'll do my best."

"Exactly. And have fun in the city, while you're there. You grew up there, didn't you?"

"I did. Haven't been back since school began, actually." 

"Even better! Well, I'll see you next week, then," she says cheerfully, and Leorio waves and leaves her office. 

* * *

It's late when he leaves school, almost 10 pm. The campus is nearly empty as he leaves the main building and crosses the dark tree-lined courtyard. It's still bitterly cold, and his teeth chatter as he walks quickly towards the parking lot. He realizes as he starts his car that he hasn't eaten anything all day. Cooking sounds like too much work, so he decides to get fast food on the way home. The only place between here and his house is a dingy Wendy's, its half-broken neon sign flashing ENDY'S into the night sky. With a sigh, he pulls into the drive through and orders a pile of fried stuff. After paying for his greasy bag of food, he's so hungry that he decides to just sit in the parking lot and eat before driving home.

As he's parking, his phone starts to ring. He picks up and wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear, plunging his hands into the warm bag. 

"H'llo?' he asks through a mouthful of French fries. 

"Leorio," comes Kurapika's reply, and his voice is strangely soft. Leorio presses the phone closer to his ear and pops a chicken nugget into his mouth. "How was school?" 

"Mm! Hi. It was fine. We have exams coming up, so everyone's freaking out. Hey, I'll be in Manhattan by 11 pm tomorrow night!" 

"That's right," Kurapika breathes. "I've been thinking about you. I...I miss you." 

Leorio pauses to chew laboriously, feeling a conflicting wave of physical responses from his body. On one hand, he's starving, but on the other hand, Kurapika's voice sounds as though he's in the middle of something. He swallows hard and wipes his hands on his jeans. 

"I miss you too, baby," he says, trying to match Kurapika's cashmere voice. "How are you?" 

"...I'm good. I wish you were here," Kurapika says faintly. Leorio's stomach grumbles, and he sneaks another nugget, chewing quickly. "What are you wearing?"

Leorio glances down at his outfit: Yankees sweatshirt again, formaldehyde-stained jeans, and more than a few French fry crumbs on his chest and stomach. "Me? Um. My nice blue suit. What are you wearing?" 

"I'm in the bath," Kurapika says, his voice barely above a whisper. At that, Leorio's dick stirs to attention and decides that nuggets can wait. "We should take a bath together this weekend."

"Yes. Yes we should," Leorio agrees, his hand trailing down to his pants zipper before he sits up and realizes where he is. "Hey, I'd love to continue this, but, uh, I'm in public. Can you, um, wait twenty minutes until I drive home?"

Kurapika laughs, and it's such a deliciously husky sound that Leorio shivers. "Certainly. Call me back." 

He hangs up with a click, and Leorio chuckles to himself and starts the car again. He breaks every speed limit on the way home. 

* * *

Afterwards, they stay on the phone together. Leorio smiles at his bedroom ceiling, daydreaming about the flush on Kurapika's face.

"I'm glad you'll be back this weekend," Kurapika says. "It's funny. I know it's only been a few days, but it feels like much longer."

"You can't stand being away from me," Leorio teases. He runs his hand across his bare stomach, imagining Kurapika's touch. "You're addicted." 

Kurapika exhales in amusement. "Maybe I am. I've never really experienced anything like this."

"Neither have I," Leorio says, dropping his playful tone. "I really haven't either. I never thought this would happen." 

Kurapika hums in agreement, and they're quiet for a moment, breathing into the phone together. 

"Perhaps this is a foolish question," Kurapika says, sounding hesitant, "but...well...just to be sure." 

"What is it?" Leorio asks, suddenly anxious. 

"Well...I just...I suppose we've never formally talked about whether you're...seeing anyone else," Kurapika finishes, rushing through the last sentence. "Because I'm not, but I never asked you not to. And I know that maybe you've met different people in school. And...well..." 

"Oh," Leorio says, surprised. "Oh, god. No. You think I have time to date anyone else?" Kurapika huffs, indignant, and Leorio laughs. "I'm just kidding. It's just you. It's been just you for a long time. I barely have any friends." 

"What about Zepile and Senritsu? And that woman who trained the children? Bisky?" 

"I mean, they're all my friends," Leorio concedes, "but...you know. You're the only person I talk to every day. You're the only person I think about all the time." 

"Oh. Well," Kurapika says, sounding pleased, "it's...it's mutual."

"You're not, like, dating some Mafia boss behind my back?" Leorio says, pulling off one of his socks with his other foot. "Heh. Wait, are you allowed to date in the Mafia?" 

"It's not the Mafia," Kurapika says, and then falls silent. Leorio frowns, pausing in the middle of pulling off the other sock.

"Oh. Were you...was there someone?"

Kurapika is quiet for another moment, and Leorio's stomach does a weak backflip. He's never been the jealous type, but the idea of Kurapika with someone else...he hadn't even considered it. He waits, holding his breath. 

"I ended it very soon after we met," Kurapika says, and Leorio relaxes. "It wasn't going anywhere. Besides, now that I know how...how this feels, with you...I can't imagine being with anyone else." 

"You too, sweetheart," Leorio says softly, rolling over in bed. "I mean it."

* * *

Leorio's Friday morning classes pass in an unfocused haze. Once the clock strikes 10 am, he bolts out of his immunology lecture and races home to pack a small suitcase. As he's rummaging through his dresser for sweaters, he notices the small velvet box sitting on his nightstand; Kurapika's ruby earrings. Smiling, he stashes them carefully in an inner compartment of the suitcase. Just in case. 

His Amtrak train leaves at noon, but he's so excited that he gets to the station at 10:45 and waits impatiently, tapping his foot and drinking a weak cup of coffee as the other passengers trail in. Finally the train arrives in a wreath of hot steam, and Leorio hurries aboard to get a good window seat. He spreads out his notes and laptop, hoping to have a productive few hours of studying, but as the train starts to chug away from the platform, he's so filled with adrenaline that he stares out the window at the wintry landscape for almost two hours, lost in thought. 

The train stops in Washington DC, and Leorio gets out to stretch with the rest of the smokers as they stand around dragging on their cigarettes, their coat collars turned up against the cool evening air. Leorio wishes that they would hurry up and get back on. It's still another three or four hours to Penn Station, depending on how many equipment malfunctions happened. The Amtrak is cheap and relatively pleasant, but it's notoriously slow and unreliable. 

Night falls as the train rolls through Pennsylvania and New Jersey, and Leorio gives up on any semblance of studying. He wobbles down to the dining car to get a beer once the train passes through Newark. He fidgets with excitement. He'd be in New York in less than thirty minutes. 

When they reach Penn Station at last, his hands are shaking in anticipation. Even the smell of subway wafting in through the train platform gives him a powerful wave of nostalgia for his old home. It's almost overwhelming. He grabs his suitcase and gets in line with the rest of the tired passengers, trying to peer over everyone's heads to look for Kurapika. They've agreed to meet at the Amtrak platform, since cell service is patchy underground. His heart leaps when he sees Kurapika's blond head next to a pretzel cart. He exits the train in three long strides, and Kurapika's eyes light up when he sees him. 

When Leorio leans down to kiss him, he can feel Kurapika smiling. They break apart, both beaming, as the passengers mull around them. Kurapika is wearing an elegant gray wool coat over a white silk shirt, and he looks so good that people are actually stopping to stare at him. Leorio's heart swells with affection. 

"Hi," he says through a grin, kissing Kurapika again. His heart is still beating hard, and there's a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. "Wow. It's...so good to see you!"

In reply, Kurapika kisses him on the cheek and pulls him up the stairs towards the subway platform. "Come on. Let's go home. It's always so crowded on Friday nights."

Leorio feels like he's walking on air as he follows Kurapika to the A train. He fumbles through his wallet for his crumpled Metro card. "Damn. It feels like I never left! Everything smells the same." 

"New York is like that," Kurapika nods, and they board the next A train as it screams to a halt in front of them. The train is crowded with Friday night bar-hoppers, everyone dressed in nice clothes and smelling faintly of alcohol. Leorio takes advantage of the festive atmosphere to nuzzle Kurapika's neck as he laughs and blushes. 

"So I finally get to see this fabled apartment," he murmurs in Kurapika's ear. "I'm still not sure it's real." 

"It is! You'll see. Few more stops," Kurapika replies, taking Leorio's hand. "Sorry we have to take the train. I know you probably grew accustomed to the private cars last year."

"That was a Nostrade perk, huh? Say, you still haven't explained your new job to me yet."

"Hmm," Kurapika says, looking away, and Leorio rolls his eyes and pokes Kurapika in the side. 

"You'll have to tell me at some point, you know." 

* * *

Leorio had always pictured Kurapika's apartment as something sleek and modern and expensive; maybe a penthouse in Flatiron or a brownstone walkup in Harlem. As it turns out, it's a small one-bedroom on 83rd street, just north of Central Park. Kurapika leads Leorio through a crumbling Art Deco style lobby and past an ancient bell hop before they climb up six flights of stairs. They're both winded by the time Kurapika opens his front door with a rusted skeleton key. 

"See? I told you it exists," he says, gesturing for Leorio to follow him inside. "There's an elevator, but it takes about an hour. Watch your head." 

Leorio ducks through the doorway and into the cramped living room. He glances around curiously as Kurapika turns on lamps and opens a window. From the looks of it, Kurapika hasn't spent much time here. The bookshelves are crammed with books in Japanese and French, but every book is covered in dust. The leaves of the potted plants lining the windowsills are wilted and brown. When Leorio sits down on a dark green chair, a little mushroom cloud of fuzz exhales out of the upholstery. Coughing, he waves it away. 

"Sorry," Kurapika says, coming back into the living room. "I really haven't lived here in a while. My apologies for the mess."

"Can I ask how the hell you afford this place, though?" Leorio says, getting to his feet and following Kurapika down a narrow hallway into his bedroom. "Isn't rent in this part of town, uh, completely insane?" 

"Rent controlled," Kurapika says with a shrug. "It used to belong to a little old lady who knew the Nostrades, and she worked out a deal with the landlord in the seventies. I only pay $800 a month." Leorio's mouth must fall open, because Kurapika laughs. "I'm not wealthy, by any means, but I do have small amount of money saved up from working with them." 

"That's less than I paid for my old _bedroom._ Damn. Maybe I should join the Mafia too." 

"Don't joke about that," Kurapika snaps. "Well. Here we go. You can put your suitcase over there." 

He flips on an old-fashioned china lamp in his bedroom, revealing another wall of bookshelves and his unmade bed. Leorio sinks into the heavy comforter and pats the spot beside him for Kurapika. Kurapika obliges and comes to sit beside him, wrapping his arms around Leorio's waist. They kiss for a long moment, sighing into each other. When they pull away, Leorio strokes Kurapika's hair and cups his cheek. 

"Still good."

"Still good," Kurapika agrees, kissing Leorio on the neck again. "So...tomorrow?"

"Right, uh," Leorio says, trying to remember the plan. "Let's go see Mariko around...eleven? Noon? Is that all right?"

Kurapika nods. "Any time is fine. Where is she?" 

"Um, Mount Sinai," Leorio says, trying to sound casual, but Kurapika's brow furrows.

"Oh. Leorio, isn't that where...?" 

"It's where Pietro...was," Leorio finishes with a forced smile. "But, yeah. It's okay. It's fine."

"I can go alone, if you prefer?" Kurapika says, looking worried. "If that's easier?" 

"No, no," Leorio says, shaking his head emphatically. He pushes Kurapika back on the bed and begins unbuttoning his silk shirt. "We'll worry about it tomorrow, yeah? 

* * *

Leorio forgot how noisy New York was at night. He keeps waking up at the sound of traffic from the street below. He gives up on sleep entirely around 4 am when the garbage trucks come rumbling through the city. Occasionally he hears the shattering of broken glass and the unmistakable cadence of angry voices shouting at one another. How did he ever manage to sleep here? Kurapika, beside him, sleeps deeply, nestled in the crook of his arm. 

When dawn comes, gray and feathery, Leorio is exhausted. Kurapika wakes up shortly after and makes them both strong cups of Turkish coffee on the two-burner stove. They sit in bed together as they drink their coffee, yawning and chatting. 

"You're sure you're all right going to the hospital?" Kurapika asks, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "It won't be too much?"

"Nah, it's okay," Leorio says resolutely. He takes a long sip of his coffee. "I really do want to meet her and talk to her. I should be the one asking you if it's okay if I come, actually." 

"Why's that?" 

"Well, because...I mean...she's sort of...related to you, I guess. Right?" 

Kurapika frowns, draining his coffee. "Not really." 

"I mean, it's not like you've met," Leorio backtracks. "But, you know...you're the one with the connection, aren't you?"

"I don't feel very connected to her," Kurapika says with a shrug. "Perhaps that will change once I meet her." 

Leorio watches his face for another moment, curious, but Kurapika doesn't say anything else as he gets out of bed and begins brushing his hair. If he's nervous about meeting Mariko, he's doing his best to hide it. 

* * *

As much as he tries to deny it, Leorio is not looking forward to going back to Mount Sinai. In fact, he's been dreading it all week. He has no idea how he'll react, and worries that his emotions will get in the way of talking to Mariko and supporting Kurapika. By the time they're standing outside of the hospital entrance, he can barely think straight. 

_Why did it have to be here? Of all the hospitals on the planet, why this one?_

It hits him as soon as they walk through the doors. Everything is just how he remembers it; there’s the same antiseptic smell, the same plastic houseplants in the hallways, the same bad art hanging on the walls. Feeling numb, he follows Kurapika through the gleaming tiled lobby and into the elevator. He tried to keep Pietro far away, but it’s no use. The last time Leorio walked into this building, Pietro’s body was lying upstairs. With a panicked feeling, he realized that he can’t remember which room number Pietro had died in. They had moved him from a different ward while Leorio had been in Japan with Kurapika. What if Leorio passed it and didn’t remember? 

“Are you all right?” Kurapika is asking softly, touching Leorio’s arm. The elevator arrives at their floor with a crisp ring. “Leorio?” 

Leorio blinks and realizes that he’s been clutching the elevator railing so tightly that his knuckles are white. He nods and takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah. Let’s just...go do this.” He gives a strained bark of a laugh, and then feels like he’s going to cry. “Just...weird being here. Let’s do it.” 

“She’s in room 44,” Kurapika murmurs, walking into the quiet ward. A young nurse glances up from the reception desk. 

“Can I help you?”

“We’re here for Mariko,” Leorio says, trying to smile. “Room 44?” 

“I’m not sure if she’s up to visitors right now,” the nurse mutters, running her fingers down a chart. “One moment. I’ll see how she’s doing.” 

Kurapika throws Leorio an anxious glance as the nurse hurries into Mariko’s room. They wait without speaking for several minutes, Leorio still breathing deeply to try to stay calm. Kurapika hovers by the water fountain, fidgeting with his sleeves and mouthing something to himself. 

“She’s awake, but she won’t be able to have visitors for long today,” the nurse reports as she strides back to the reception desk. Her clean white sneakers squeak against the tiled floor. “She’s quite weak, so you can’t stay long.” 

“Thank you,” Kurapika says with a grateful nod, and they walk quickly towards room 44. The door is ajar, and Leorio can tell just from the sound of the machinery within that Mariko is very ill. 

They step tentatively inside, ducking behind a blue curtain. Mariko is propped up in bed with her eyes half-closed, and although her face is as lovely as Leorio remembers it from the photographs, he’s taken aback from how gaunt and skeletal she looks. Her breathing is labored and raspy. An oxygen catheter hangs loosely on her thin face, and she has several IVs running infusions into her arms and chest. 

She looks just like Pietro did at the end. Whatever this disease was, it was unforgiving. In spite of himself, Leorio's medical curiosity kicks in. What could it be? He hangs back and eyes the charts, noting her lung and liver and kidney function, her heart rate, her oxygenation, her catheter output, trying to puzzle it out. It's most likely some kind of progressive neurodegenerative disease, but it could also be a rare virus, or a brain tumor, or a mitochondrial disorder. His mind whirls with possibilities as Kurapika takes a timid step foreword, raising his voice. 

“Mariko...?” 

She opens her eyes blearily, and Leorio can't hold back a sharp intake of surprised breath; the whites of her eyes have gone almost completely black. She looks like some kind of nocturnal animal. Kurapika notices too, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“Do I know you?” she asks politely, her voice paper-thin. “I'm sorry. You seem familiar, but I can't see well any more. Please, sit down.” 

A strange expression crosses Kurapika’s face. He hurries to pull a chair over to the bedside and sit beside her. Leorio hovers by the charts, trying not to get in the way. 

“Mariko, I’m....my name is Kurapika. Kurapika Kurta.”

She frowns, peering into his face. Kurapika takes her hand. 

“I’m Kurtan. Like you. I survived. I left just before it happened.”

She says nothing while holding his hand and peering into his solemn face with those strange black eyes as Kurapika waits in silence. 

“I always wondered if I’d meet someone,” she says at last, a faint smile creasing her face, and Kurapika sags in relief. “My goodness. You are, aren’t you?” She touches Kurapika’s cheek. “You look just like them. I can tell. Your eyes." 

Kurapika smiles, and Leorio feels suddenly as though he’s intruding on a very private moment. Quietly, he backs out of the room. He’ll give them some time alone before he butts in with his long list of technical questions. 

* * *

To his surprise, Kurapika returns to the lobby after about twenty minutes, looking tired.

“You’re done already?” Leorio asks, standing up to meet him. “How was it? I figured I would give you some privacy.” 

“Thanks. You don’t have to,” Kurapika shrugs, half-smiling. “Once I told her who I was, we didn’t have very much to talk about. She didn’t know anyone in my village. She doesn’t speak the language at all.” 

“...Oh,” Leorio says, crestfallen. They walk back outside and pause on the sidewalk. A light rain is falling, misting over the glow of the streetlights. “So did you...talk about the eyes, or the museum or Howard or anything, or...?”

“The nurse asked me to leave before I could address it. She was drifting off again. They did some treatment to her eyes." 

They set off towards the subway, avoiding the spray of dirty puddle water from a passing cab. Leorio had forgotten how dismal the city was in January. 

“Gotcha. Well...I guess we can come back tomorrow and try again.”

"I guess,” Kurapika agrees, but he looks unconvinced. “I know you have questions for her."

“I do, but it’s more important that you talk to her,” Leorio shrugs. “Besides, Cheadle doesn’t know that I have secret access to a real live Kurtan already,” he continues with a weak laugh. It’s an awkward attempt to lighten the mood, and it goes over like a wet blanket. As they descend into the warm, aromatic subway, Kurapika treats him to a particularly icy stare.

”I’m glad I can be of _assistance_ for your research,” he hisses, and Leorio deflates.

The train is running late, and the 10 minutes they spend waiting feels like an eternity. Finally, it pulls up with a deafening screech. 

“I was just joking, Peeks,” Leorio tries once they’re seated on the train, but Kurapika stares stonily out the window at the tunnel walls for the rest of the ride. 

* * *

They endure a strained afternoon and evening together in Kurapika's dark apartment. Kurapika retreats to the bedroom as soon as they get back and puts on headphones, his mouth a thin line. Leorio gets the hint and leaves him alone for a while. He spends half an hour researching Mariko's eye condition, curious to learn more about it, and finds absolutely nothing. He's completely stumped, and leaves a message with Cheadle asking about it. 

The hours drag on. He had wanted to see Zepile and Senritsu tonight, but they're both out of the city for work. To kill time, he putters around the dusty living room, flipping through paperbacks in Japanese and inspecting the wilted houseplants.

Kurapika emerges from the bedroom at sunset, yawning and stretching. He's dressed in his running clothes. 

"Shall we go for a run? It looks like it cleared up, finally." 

Leorio tears his gaze away from Kurapika's sleek leggings to look outside at the pink winter twilight. The sky is clear, but the air is so cold that he can feel it seeping through the bay windows. Running sounds awful, actually, but it seems like this is Kurapika's olive branch. He doesn't want to say no and risk another three-hour stretch of irritable silence. 

"Why not," he agrees, and proceeds to change into his running clothes as Kurapika hovers beside him, looking pleased. "Hm. How many layers, do you think?" 

"Ideally, you should be dressing for optimal cardiovascular performance, and extra layers can create unnecessary heat retention. Two layers at most," Kurapika recites. Leorio resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Okay. Sure. Let's do it." 

They each put on a woolen hat and lace up their shoes before heading downstairs. It's near darkness now, and Leorio is so cold the moment that they step out into the frigid air that he's worried that he'll pass out. Kurapika gives him a nod, and they set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, dodging patches of ice and clumps of hard-packed snow as their breath fogs in front of them. Leorio's lungs start to burn at once. He's never going to survive Kurapika's pace. 

The Sheep Meadow in Central Park is empty and covered with a thin crust of blue frost. Their shoes crunch through the brittle grass as they cross the field. To his surprise, Leorio starts to find his stride by the time they've reached the trails. He's light on his feet and full of energy; all of that running he did back in Roanoke last fall must have paid off. Kurapika, on the other hand, is starting to lag behind him, and Leorio turns around to tease him. 

"What's the matter, huh? Am I too fast for ya?"

He expects Kurapika to laugh or roll his eyes, but Kurapika says nothing, panting grimly and hurrying to keep up with Leorio. He’s breathing harder than he normally does at this pace. Leorio slows down to run beside Kurapika as they weave their way deeper into the woods. 

"Man. Remember the last time we went running in here? Right after we met?"

"Mm."

"We barely knew each other back then," Leorio continues, reminiscing. "Damn. That wasn't even a year ago..."

He turns to meet Kurapika's eyes, and is startled to see that Kurapika's face is pale and grayish. He's breathing so hard that he's starting to gasp for air. 

"Whoa. Whoa. Hey," Leorio says quickly, coming to a halt and reaching for Kurapika's arm, "hey, stop. Are you all right? Is the cold getting you?"

Kurapika leans down to rest his hands on his knees, breathing erratically. Leorio inspects his hands and notices that his nail beds have gone bluish; a sign of hypoxia. Kurapika's about to pass out if he runs any further. A spasm of fear crosses Leorio's chest, and he shakes it off. He's trained for this, after all. 

"Hey. Let's stop. You're not getting enough air. Do you have asthma?" 

Kurapika shakes his head no, still too winded to talk. Leorio puts a hand on his back and leads him over to sit on the rocky trail wall. 

"Here. Rest for a minute. Allergies? I wonder if it's something in your apartment. All those books. And you probably haven't done laundry in a while. Maybe the detergent you're using?"

He's rambling to calm himself down, and it's not working. Kurapika manages to catch his breath after another moment, and looks up at Leorio with wide, frightened eyes. 

"I apologize," he says in a raspy voice, coughing a bit. "I don't know what happened. Let's go home." 

"Don't worry!" Leorio says quickly, "don't worry at all, you probably just got some exercise-induced asthma going on, happens all the time in the cold. Let's get you home. Do you have any inhalers or anything like that?"

"Um..." Kurapika begins, looking doubtful, and Leorio shakes his head. 

"No worries! No worries. I'll just run to the drugstore if you need something. First thing we can do is get you a cup of coffee and a warm shower. Caffeine and steam will help. Here, let's get home." 

He ushers Kurapika back across Sheep Meadow, trying to hide his panic as Kurapika continues to wheeze and rasp. He's never seen Kurapika in this kind of distress, and it's triggering every bad memory about Pietro. _Calm down,_ he tells himself over and over as they ride the creaky elevator up to Kurapika's apartment and unlock the deadbolt, _it's just because it's cold and he hasn't run in a while, it happens all the time. Not everything is a death sentence. Don't panic._

Once they're inside, Leorio sends Kurapika to take a hot shower while he brews a strong pot of gritty black coffee. The longer that he can stay in action mode, the easier it is to stay calm. How can he possibly be a good doctor if he panics this much every time someone coughs? It's ridiculous. He's overreacting. 

Twenty minutes later, when the coffee is done and Leorio has already drank a cup of it, Kurapika emerges from the shower with a towel around his neck, damp-haired and smiling faintly. His breathing has returned to normal. 

"Sorry about that. I guess I'm just out of shape," he says timidly, pouring himself a cup of coffee and coming to stand beside Leorio. Relieved, Leorio leans down to kiss his wet forehead. 

"You sure you're okay? You sounded awful." 

Kurapika nods into his chest, slinging an arm around his waist.

"Yes. I'm all right. Should we order something for dinner? What sounds good? Sushi? Italian?"

"Um...whatever. Maybe some Italian food. It's so cold out. Are you sure you don't want me to run and get you something for your breathing?" 

"Hmm. Help me order. Perhaps the grilled artichoke." 

Leorio doesn't want to let it go this easily, but Kurapika has that look on his face again. Shrugging, Leorio leans over Kurapika's shoulder and scrolls through the overpriced menu. 

* * *

"Strange," Kurapika says later that night, as they're lying side by side in his bed underneath the heavy comforter. Leorio is almost asleep, dreaming a boring half-dream about getting lost on the A train, and he opens his eyes to see Kurapika's troubled face lit by a yellow ray of streetlight filtering in through the curtains. He blinks groggily and tries to remember where he is. 

"Mmzat?" 

"She looks just like my grandmother did." 

Leorio pushes himself onto his elbows and runs a hand across Kurapika's smooth chest.

"Who? Mariko?"

"Well...sort of," Kurapika mutters, frowning, "but...I remember her eyes. I think. Now I don't know if it's even a real memory, or if I'm just confused. But..."

"Wait. You mean. Like Mariko's eyes?" Leorio says, his pulse quickening. "Like, how they were all dark around the whites? Like that?" He sits up, suddenly wide awake. "Oh. That's worth noting."

"But I don't even know if I'm right," Kurapika says despondently, burying his face in the blanket. "I can't ask anyone to double check." 

"Um..." Leorio starts, trying to word his question tactfully, "well...I don't want to bring anything up if you don't want to, but, um..." 

"Spit it out," Kurapika says, yawning. "What?"

"Did your grandmother die...with your other family? Or, erm. Did she pass of natural causes? Before that?"

"Oh." Kurapika thinks for a moment, staring at the wall with unfocused eyes. "Right. Well...let's see." He pauses to count something on his fingers, murmuring in Japanese. "I was...uh...by traditional ages, I was about nine when she died. She was sickly as long as I knew her. Something wasn't right with her legs. She was very weak. And then she did lose her vision eventually, before she died. My parents took care of her for several years." 

Leorio says nothing, digesting this information. A snarl of nauseous anxiety is gathering in the pit of his stomach. 

"What is it?" Kurapika says, watching him. "Leorio? Well. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep." 

He kisses Leorio's cheek and rolls into his arms before promptly dozing off again. Leorio lies awake for a long time, staring at the cracked ceiling and trying to fight off the sense of panic that's threatening to swallow him up whole. 

* * *

They get an early start on Sunday morning, hoping to catch Mariko while she's feeling better. It's a crisp sunny day, the sky a brilliant hard blue above the skyscrapers. Leorio feels calmer as they walk through the hospital doors again. Kurapika is in a better mood too, holding Leorio's hand as they walk and making small talk about an exhibit he wants to see at the Metropolitan Museum of Art later that month. 

To Leorio's relief, Mariko is awake and alert when they tiptoe into her room. A nurse bustles nearby, monitoring her infusion bags and taking her pulse, but leaves with a polite smile when Leorio and Kurapika approach her bed. 

"Don't wear her out, but she's doing better today," the nurse murmurs, and Leorio assures her that they won't. He leans down to greet Mariko, unsure of how well she can see them with her failing vision. She blinks up at him, her eyes still pitch black and unsettling. 

"Mariko, hello. My name is Leorio Paladiknight. I believe Howard from the Smithsonian told you about me?" 

"Leorio. Hi there. Yes, Howard mentioned you. Please, come in. Is someone else with you, too?" she asks, turning her head unseeingly towards Kurapika, who sinks into a chair at her bedside and takes her hands. 

"It's Kurapika Kurta again, Miss Mariko. How are you feeling today?"

Her face relaxes into a smile at Kurapika's touch, and she squeezes his hands. "Better, thank you. I think they're giving me less Ativan today. I don't like feeling so out of it." 

"That's good," Leorio says, taking the chair besides Kurapika. "Well...Mariko, I suppose Howard has told you that I'd like to ask you some questions today. Would that be all right?" 

"Certainly. Can Kurapika stay?" she asks, and Kurapika smiles. "I quite like him." 

"I do too," Leorio reassures her. "He'll be here with us." He leans down to extract his notebook from his backpack so that he can start on Cheadle's questions. "Now, Mariko, just tell me if you'd like to stop or if you're feeling tired, all right?"

She nods, her gaze drifting towards the window. "Please stay as long as you like. I've been quite lonely here. My friends are all back in Montreal." 

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that," Leorio says sympathetically. He clears his throat and asks the first question. Kurapika peers over his shoulder at the list, his eyes narrowing in fascination. "Now, Mariko, can you tell me everything you remember about your family? What did you parents look like? Their eyes, specifically?"

"Oh. Goodness," she says, sighing. "Let me see. My mother had dark hair, and green eyes..." 

* * *

Over the next hour and a half, a clearer picture of Mariko's life emerges. Kurapika listens quietly as Leorio asks question after question, and Mariko answers everything good-naturedly, pausing every so often to cough violently into a bloodied tissue as Leorio and Kurapika wince. Nurses hovers in the background, but Mariko waves them away, insisting that she's enjoying the company. 

Her childhood memories of the Kurtans are faint. As Kurapika noticed from the articles, she mainly remembers the lack of modern technology in the clan. Kurapika's eyes widen slightly when she describes a vague memory of an autumn harvest celebration, but she was too young to grasp much of the cultural meaning behind the holiday, and mainly recalls the nutmeg cakes she got to eat. At age 9, her parents decided to leave the clan to pursue a modernized life, and her early memories were overtaken by her upbringing in Tokyo, where she quickly assimilated into her group of middle school friends. After high school, she attended college and got a job as a librarian, and both of her parents died when she was in her twenties.

"Can I ask what caused their deaths?" Leorio asks, chewing the end of his pen. "Were they ill?"

"Leukemia for my mother, and lung disease for my father. Within two years of one another." 

"That must have been very hard," Leorio replies, jotting it down in his notebook as Kurapika murmurs in agreement. "And...after that you did not have any contact with anyone else in the clan, correct?"

She shakes her head weakly. "No. I tried to throw myself into my work and forget about it. It wasn't until two years ago when I came across the eyes in that catalogue that I really let myself think about it again." 

"I see. And...I suppose the question I'm most interested in," Leorio continues, glancing at Kurapika, "is...what compelled you to go public? You've given all of these interviews, and now there's the exhibit...it's quite something, to go from being a librarian with a very private life to being somewhat of a celebrity, isn't it?" 

Kurapika has gone very still, watching her face intently as she closes her eyes to cough. Leorio finds himself holding his breath until the coughing fit ends and she relaxes back into the pillows, a grimace of pain on her face. 

"I don't know if I can explain it, really." She stops to wipe her mouth, looking tired. "But I just want people to know. I spent so long pretending that I hadn't grown up in the way that I did, and when I heard about what had happened to the rest of them, I tried to forget even more. I just...I felt...a responsibility towards those people who had died, even if I didn't remember them. Like I owed them something. And I didn't want the eyes to just sit in my attic gathering dust, either." 

Leorio nods and says nothing. If Kurapika were to say something, now would be the time, but he merely sits there in silence, carefully watching Mariko's face. 

"And now it doesn't really matter if I'm famous or not," she finishes with a rueful laugh, gesturing down at herself. "I'm not long for this world, am I?"

"Have they told you anything more about the disease, Mariko?" Leorio asks gently. He doesn't want to be morbid, but sometimes very sick patients were relieved to discuss their conditions in plain English. "Have they given you a prognosis?" 

"The geneticist came in today," she wheezes, and leans down to pull out a sheath of paper from a pile on her nightstand. "Maybe you can make sense of this, because I'm not sure what it means. All I know is they figured out that it's linked to something in one of my chromosomes." 

Leorio's pulse quickens, and he nods towards the papers. Kurapika stiffens and looks towards the windows, adjusting the hem of his jacket. "Is it all right if I...?"

She nods and hands him the papers. "Be my guest. It's all Greek to me, anyhow." 

Leorio scans the charts quickly. Mariko has two chromosomal abnormalities; one of them is the same link to the Scarlet Eyes that Cheadle noticed in her research, but the other is new. Her 19th pair of chromosomes shows a defect. 

"It's like Alzheimer's," he mutters to himself, tracing the outline of the unbalanced chromosome pair. "Same pair..."

"What is it?" Kurapika asks, leaning over Leorio's shoulder. "It's Alzheimer's?" 

"No. But it's something similar, I think," Leorio says, and Mariko nods. “But, Mariko, this is good news, actually. If they’re able to pinpoint the abnormality, they can better tailor your treatment options.” Mariko and Kurapika both look doubtful, so Leorio elaborates. “No, really. There are all sorts of therapies available now. You’re in the right place for it, too. There’s still hope.”   
  
“You’re kind,” she says, reaching out blindly for his hand and patting his palm. “But it’s all right. I’m old enough that it’s not a tragedy.” 

“If there was a treatment available for this, would you take it?” Leorio asks, leaning closer. “If you knew it would extend your life?”

She blinks. “Of course, but...”

“Then don’t give up yet, Mariko,” Leorio says firmly. “It’s still possible that you could recover from this.” 

“If you say so, Mr. Paladiknight,” she says with a shrug, and stops to cough wretchedly into her tissue once more. “Ack. I’m sorry. I think I’ll have to rest for the day. Thank you again for coming. Kurapika, it was lovely to see you again, dear.”   
  
Kurapika murmurs his goodbyes as Leorio scans her charts once more, his mind whirling. He can’t wait to talk to Cheadle about this development. 

* * *

Leorio is full of energy as they take the subway back to Kurapika’s apartment, but Kurapika is quiet and withdrawn again. Once they’re back, Kurapika drifts around making a pot of tea as Leorio talks to Cheadle on the fire escape. 

“...and so it’s looking more and more as though it’s linked to the 19th chromosome. Similar to an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. I wonder if they’ve scanned for beta amyloid plaques? I’ll have to ask if she’s had any fMRI scans yet,” Leorio says, talking quickly as Cheadle types notes, her keyboard clacking. “This could open up the possibility of all sorts of treatment, don’t you think?”

“It’s possible,” Cheadle says cautiously, “but, Leorio, don’t get carried away. Her onset is so fast that it’s not a good prognosis, you know. Don’t count on her making a recovery. Have they consulted palliative care yet?”

“What? No, no, she’s still in internal med,” Leorio says, clinging on to the cold medal of the fire escape and frowning. “I don’t think she’s ready to give up yet. She just got sick a few weeks ago!”

“What does she say about treatment? Does she want to go forward with anything aggressive?” 

“Well, when I asked if she would want to be completely healed if possible, she said yes, so—“

“But that’s not the question,” Cheadle says, and Leorio sags, feeling irritated. 

“I just don’t think they should give up on her yet!”

“It’s not about that. You know that. But it’s not possible to save everyone, and sometimes it’s possible to cause more harm than good when people are that sick.”   
  
Leorio says nothing, kicking at a patch of ice on the iron scaffolding. He feels weirdly petulant, and wishes that Cheadle wasn’t so defeatist about the issue. Still, though, she was his boss. Better not to argue with her too much.

“I understand. Thank you for talking, Doctor Cheadle.”  
  
“It’s my pleasure, Leorio. Safe travels. I’ll see you when you’re back.”

He hangs up and stares out at the street, feeling lost. 

* * *

Leorio isn’t going back to Roanoke until tomorrow night, and they have the entire day together tomorrow. To celebrate, they open a bottle of red wine and set up a game of Scrabble, Kurapika’s favorite. 

As they’re organizing their tiles, Leorio takes a long sip of wine and turns towards Kurapika.

“Well. How did it feel, meeting Mariko? I hope I didn’t talk too much. Here. My word is...uh...egg.” He sets his tiles down with a clatter. 

“No, you’re all right,” Kurapika says with a faint smile. “I mean...she’s lovely, but she’s...well, she’s not really Kurtan, is she? So I tried not to get my hopes up. At most, we could be very distant cousins. She seems about as Kurtan to me as you do.” 

Leorio nods, feeling a deep sadness for Kurapika. Maybe it had been too good to be true. 

”Yeah. I get that. I just...well.” He pauses to wipe his glasses on his shirt. “I know this must be kind of...doubly disappointing. I had really hoped she would remember more. For you to have someone to talk to.” 

Kurapika says nothing in reply, but Leorio watches a muscle jump in his cheek. 

“It’s all right to be sad,” Leorio continues gently, reaching out to squeeze Kurapika’s hand. At his touch, Kurapika pulls out of his grasp to play his turn.

“There. Jezebel. 75 points.” 

Leorio jots down the score on the back of a discarded Chinese takeout menu, whistling in appreciation. 

“You’re fucked up at this. I didn’t even know that was a word you could use. What, did you memorize the dictionary or something?”

He says it jokingly to lighten the mood, but Kurapika does not laugh, and Leorio wonders if maybe it isn’t a joke at all. He clears his throat and takes his turn. 

“Ehm. Anyways. My word is...barn. Uh, 7 points.”

Kurapika cheers up considerably at that, barely concealing a smug grin as he picks out his new tiles.

“So,” Leorio continues, “on that note, we really need to get you into a clinic for chromosomal testing as soon as possible. Now that we know what Mariko’s stuff is linked to, we should figure out if you have the same gene as soon as possible. There are plenty of great clinics in the city, or you can come to Roanoke and get an appointment at my school hospital. I’ll get everything set up for you if you’re not sure how to do it.” 

Kurapika barely looks up from his tiles, nodding once and giving a quiet hum. Leorio sets down his wine glass and leans his elbows on the wooden dining table. 

“So which would you prefer?” he presses. “Here, or Roanoke? The sooner you do it, the better.”   
  
“I don’t think I will,” Kurapika says lightly, refilling his wine glass. He looks up and meets Leorio’s eyes. “I’d prefer not to.” 

“It’s not bad,” Leorio says, stretching out a placating hand. “If it’s the needles you’re worried about, I think they do most of it with cheek swabs now anyways. It would take a few days at most—“

“I’m not interested,” Kurapika says, his mouth hardening. “Leorio, please. Don’t be pushy.” 

Leorio is speechless for a moment, his hands falling limply on the table. Was he hearing Kurapika correctly?

“So let me get this straight,” he says, breathing through his nostrils. “You get that whatever Mariko’s got now is linked to something on her chromosomes. And it sounds like your grandmother had it. And we could find out if you have it too, and you just don’t want to?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Kurapika says in a wounded voice, crossing his arms protectively in front of his chest. “You’re oversimplifying things. You’re explaining it to me like I’m an idiot.” 

“Peeks, I think you are so smart,” Leorio says, touching his hand as he yanks it away. “Come on. I’m sorry. I just...tell me why it’s not that simple. I don’t get it. Explain it to me.” 

“I’d rather not,” Kurapika snaps back, and they fall into an uneasy silence. Leorio plays another word (shoe, 4 points), and Kurapika grits his teeth together and clicks his tiles around. After another ten minutes, Leorio can’t take it any more.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t figure out if they’re going to get sick or not,” he says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Kurapika glances up at him, eyebrows raised. “Seems pretty insane to me not to do it.” 

“Mm,” Kurapika offers, maddeningly noncommittal as he puts down his tiles. “Okay, my word is...kumquat. 22 points.” Looking satisfied, he leans back in his chair and rummages in the bag for his new batch of tiles. “Your turn.” 

”I just don’t understand,” Leorio repeats stubbornly, ignoring the game. “I don’t understand at all why you would choose not to do it. It’s stupid.” 

Kurapika shoots him a sharp look over his glass of wine, tapping on a letter Z tile. 

”Do we have to keep discussing this? I’d rather not. It’s clear that it’s upsetting you. Are you going to take your turn or not?” 

“No,” Leorio snaps. His stomach is aching with anxiety. “I want to talk about this. Kurapika...why? Why _not_ get the testing?”

”Well, for one,” Kurapika replies, taking a long sip of his wine, “I don’t have health insurance, and I can’t afford a barrage of sophisticated genetic testing out of pocket. I need to use the money I have saved up to continue tracking the eyes.” 

He’s too calm. How can he talk about a life-or-death matter without batting an eye?   
  
“That doesn’t make sense at _all_ ,” Leorio says tersely, a tight knot of anger gathering in his chest. “How are you supposed to fly all over the world looking for the eyes if you’re wasting away? If you’re in a wheelchair? On chemo? What’s the plan then, huh?” 

Kurapika flicks his bangs out of his face in irritation, not meeting Leorio’s eyes. 

“I’ll worry about that if it happens. There’s no guarantee that I’ll get sick, after all. I’d rather take my chances and continue on my path. Besides,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “I don’t...or rather, I can’t disclose my name to any institutions that might communicate with the police. It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk getting apprehended.”

“That’s what HIPAA is for,” Leorio says with a dismissive wave. “That’s the whole point of healthcare. We have to treat anyone who walks in, and we keep everything confidential until you give us the okay. Don’t worry about that. Plus, a private clinic will care even less.” 

“It’s still too much of a risk. But that’s not the issue. I don’t _want_ to, Leorio,” Kurapika says, turning away. “Isn’t that enough?”

“But,” Leorio splutters, standing up from the table and pacing around the room, tugging at his hair, “but...Kurapika. Didn’t you hear anything I said today? Come on. If you just _know_ that you might have a chance of getting sick, then you can take preventative measures now to stop it from ever happening. Why wouldn’t you do that?” His voice breaks on the last word, and he takes a deep breath. Kurapika is still seated at the table, his face unreadable. “Don’t you know—don’t you understand that most people don’t have the luxury of predicting their illness?!”

As Leorio rants, he’s overtaken by the memory of a frightened Pietro coughing up blood in the bathroom sink for the first time. He remembers, with a visceral full-body shiver, just how terrified they were, how desperately Leorio tried to get him the best help possible, and how much it didn’t matter in the end, all because the cancer was diagnosed too late. If it had been caught even a few months earlier, Pietro may well be alive today...

“I do not have much in common with most people,” Kurapika is saying softly, and for some reason that makes Leorio furious. 

“I know you don’t!” he yells, and Kurapika flinches. He feels guilty, but keeps going, too upset to calm down. “I know you don’t! I know! You are different from everyone I’ve ever met, and all I want is to help you be safe, and okay, and—and—God damn it, Kurapika, sometimes I feel like you trust me and want to be around me but sometimes I wonder if I’m just imagining the whole fucking thing! Why won’t you accept help? Why do you have to make your life so fucking _hard_? It’s like you’re trying to...I don’t know...punish yourself for surviving.” 

He stops, breathing hard. Kurapika is frozen at the table, staring at his hands. 

“You’re bright,” Kurapika says dryly, his voice ragged with hurt, and Leorio wilts. 

“I...” 

A crazy idea has popped into his head. He runs over to his suitcase and digs through his rumpled clothing. 

“What are you doing?” Kurapika asks in a flat voice, not looking up. Leorio finds what he’s looking for and hurries over to the table, kneeling down in front of Kurapika and holding a small box.

Kurapika finally looks away from the table to cast him a panicked gaze.   
  
“What are you..?”

Leorio pries open the velvet box to reveal the ruby earrings, sparkling in the candlelight. Kurapika’s eyes widen.

”Marry me,” Leorio says, breathless. His heart is thudding in his ears. “Marry me. Sorry it’s not a ring. I have great health insurance through the school. You can change your name to whatever you want so nobody knows who you are. You can get the testing done without spending a dime.” 

“Leorio, I...” Kurapika begins in a papery voice, his large eyes filling with tears. He pushes the box away and covers his mouth with his hands. “Stop. This is all wrong.” 

“Is it?” Leorio says helplessly, still clutching the earrings. “Is it so wrong? Kurapika, I love you. I do.” He takes a shuddery breath, feeling as though he’s missed a step going downstairs. “Please. You can’t keep punishing yourself forever. Please, if you care for me at all, you have to get tested, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes to help you figure it out. I’ll do anything.” 

“Leorio,” Kurapika begins in that same thin voice, “of course I care about you. Of course I do. But...”

“But you won’t do it,” Leorio interrupts, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Right. Because you have to find the eyes. Yep. I know. You can save your breath.” 

He sags onto the floor, his breath catching in his chest. There’s a long, wounded silence as they both stare in opposite directions, Kurapika leaning his face into his hands on the table and Leorio still crouched on the ground. The rattle of the subway shakes the windows. 

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Kurapika was right about one thing: this was all wrong.

Wordlessly, he gets to his feet, places the earrings on the table next to Kurapika, and gathers up his coat and suitcase. 

“Where are you going?” Kurapika asks, his voice muffled behind his hands. “It’s late.” 

“I’m going home,” Leorio replies, and places a gentle hand on Kurapika’s shoulder. “Look. I’m sorry. I...probably shouldn’t have done that.” 

Kurapika makes a small noise of assent, not looking up. Leorio zips up his jacket and walks towards the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. 

“I mean it, Kurapika. I want to marry you. But I can’t watch you die, not when there’s an alternative. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough for that.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “If you change your mind about getting tested, I’ll be with you in a heartbeat. I love you.” 

He manages to keep his tone level, but when Kurapika murmurs “I love you too” as the apartment door swings shut, it takes every ounce of control he has to keep from crying out and running back into the warm living room.

Chest aching, he hurries down the six flights of stairs and across the marble-floored lobby until he’s standing out on the cold sidewalk, his breath fogging in the night air. Once he’s outside, he lets himself cry for thirty seconds before wiping his nose on his sleeve and setting off at a brisk pace towards the subway. It’s around 1 am, and the first train home to Roanoke leaves Grand Central at 6 in the morning. He’ll spend the night in the station and be home by tomorrow afternoon. 


End file.
